


Choosing You

by angelxtal



Series: MCU Stories [6]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes & Peter Parker Friendship, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky goes by James, Character Development, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Figuring Things Out, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Peter Parker, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Revelations, Slow Burn, WinterSpider friendship, super slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 72,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16816672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelxtal/pseuds/angelxtal
Summary: When James Barnes wakes up from Chryo, he has to find out who he is and what's important to him. He learns that freedom is the ability to make your own decisions. Steve never let him choose what he wanted to do--he rushed into battle against the man whose parents Bucky killed and gave Bucky no chance to decide for himself that he wanted to take responsibility for his actions as the Winter Soldier.But Tony Stark, the man who invited James into his home, always lets James choose for himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters toward the beginning are around 3-5k words long, towards ch. 12-13 they're over 10k words long. It just depends on how much I want to accomplish with each chapter. Remember, this is a slow burn but James and Tony will eventually get together.

Guilt is not a casual feeling for James. Rather, it rips through him in bouts of burning cold pain, making his brain ache behind his ears and his chest fill up with stale air. His hands fidget and his feet pace along the floor of the bungalow, but nothing can calm him down. Months spent frozen can do nothing to cool his nerves when this kind of news is delivered.

“Why would he want to do this? Why would he want to take me back after everything?” He asks, shaking his head rather vigorously. It just doesn’t make sense…

Bucky stands in a warm, airy space seemingly half-outdoors and half indoors, like a shell of a room. He can’t recall seeing any other sort of building like it except for others in Wakanda. Normally he might take a moment to enjoy himself, to sit and stare into the sun while he awaits orders to come in from his Handler, like those oh-so-rare times he’d had tracking Targets up and down the mountains; but today, he is feeling guilt. Today, his feet trail back and forth over the wooden floorboards, knocking sounds filling the room as he is the only one talking, even with a whole team of doctors standing a meter away.

He doesn’t notice the alarmed manner in which the new doctors observe him. James has never met them before. They were recruited to monitor him while he was frozen, and while they’ve heard tales of him, they have had yet to see him in his half-calm, half-manic state.

T’Challa and Nakia, however, are perfectly used to it. They’ve seen these episodes of self-doubt, fear, and paranoia. T’Challa’s not sure how he will manage to ever convince Sargent Barnes that Tony is genuinely attempting to offer help. Surely, the man will never believe in something so positive. He’s barely had a positive moment in the last seventy years. 

Before any of the Wakandans have an opportunity to try and calm the Soldier down, he continues on with his rambling, not even sure if he really wants an answer or not. “There’s no way anyone’d let me near him, right? He’s just doin’ this for revenge?” It’s not like Bucky wouldn’t deserve it after all. He wouldn’t just show up and let Stark kill him, but he won’t deny that the man’s justified in his anger. The Asset killed his mother. 

The King shakes his head, leaning back against the counter behind him as he continues to watch the Soldier panic. “Mr. Stark has informed me that he understands--at least as best he can--what you’ve gone through. He says his priority isn’t dealing with what happened between the two of you, that you can choose to trust him or not, but that he has the technology to help you. He’s extending an offer, and a rather exceptional offer, at that.”

“No, no. That doesn’t make any sense. I killed his parents. This can’t be right.”

Nakia lets out a breath of air and takes a step forward, her armor clanking as she goes, and places her hand on top of James’. She looks him in the eye and slowly gets him to calm down. “No matter what happened, this is a chance to move forward. This may be your only chance.” At that, Bucky glances up at T’Challa, quietly frowning. Only chance?

Bucky pauses before responding. How is he supposed to react to this? “Does Stevie know?”

_Of course that would be his first question._ T’Challa remarks. “No. This information was extended from Mr. Stark to you. I relay messages exactly. This is _your_ decision. Mr. Rogers can’t make it for you.”

Fear prickles up Bucky’s spine, intertwining with the cold-burn pain in his heart. He is scared of this enemy he was forced to make--this son of a man he had only met twice--but he is even more scared that T’Challa and Nakia are right. This is his decision, and it’s one he doesn’t want to make.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?”

“One can never be sure of anything.” Tony says with a flippant wave of his hand. If he were to respond with any sort of real response, he might just break down over the subject of the man he’s just invited into his home.

Besides, this is not a conversation to be having over a Six O-Clock meal. This restaurant is far too expensive for such cheap, cheesy talk. _Trying to talk me out of my self-destructive tendencies…ridiculous and futile._

Pepper frowns, leaning forward in her chair and perching her elbows on the table. It’s been a month or so since she’s sat here across from him, checking in on his recovery since the fight in Siberia. He looks remarkably better: freshly showered, facial hair cleanly cut, eyes bright.

He is sober and he is doing well, which is a downright miracle after what’s happened. But that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. He’s hardly from it, in fact. Pepper will not let her watch over him wane once again. She will not stand by as he makes risky decisions and gets himself killed again.

“Tony, this is serious.”

He grimaces. “I know.” Too much of his annoyance comes through in his voice, and he lets out an overly-casual sigh to make up for it. “I’m a scientist. What good is my technology--my _science_ \--if I can’t use it to make the world better, huh? What good’s my technology to remove his triggers if I’m not doing everything I can to use it?”

“I’m not going to pretend to understand your tech, but I understand you, Tony.” She tells him. “I know that you always feel the need to help people, but you need to remember that you don’t owe him anything.”

“I do know that.” He rolls his eyes. Even though the two of them have wandered into more amicable grounds ever since the fight with the ex-avengers, Pepper and he aren’t together anymore. The feeling does nothing to urge him to listen to her. “But I’m doing what I do. I’m going to help because he’s a victim too. When there’re crazy super soldiers running around with robot arms and kinky face masks--yes, I’ll have the chicken parmesan please, sauce on the side-

Pepper hands her menu over to the menu to the waiter. “Filet mignon, medium rare, thank you,”

\--then I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that those super soldiers aren’t continually being tortured. That’s just the kind ‘a guy I am.” Tony jokes, not seeming to understand that this _is_ a good deed.

The businesswoman shakes her head and takes a sip of her wine, feeling her blood pressure rise. It’s no longer her place to tell him what to do as a girlfriend, but what about as a friend? “If Peter and Rhodey were here they’d be saying the same thing as me.” She mutters.

“Peter’d agree with me. Because I’m amazing.” He says with a scoff.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yes, I am.”

* * *

**_Peter:_ ** _Is Patrick Dempsy hot? Yes._

**_Peter:_ ** _But is his name Patrick, and therefore I cannot be attracted to him? Yes._

**_Ned:_ ** _But he’s white, at least twice your age, and is kind of muscular. That’s just your type._

Peter chuckles to himself, twisting a bolt into place with one hand and typing with the other. All weekend he has been at the Compound to train with Mr. Stark and this is the first time he’s been able to text both of his friends at the same time. He’s missed their banter.

**_Michelle:_ ** _Ooooh damn_

**_Michelle:_ ** _u got him there_

**_Peter:_ ** _No_

**_Peter:_ ** _His eyes are all sad_

**_Peter:_ ** _How could you have sex with him when he always looks like he’s about to cry???_

**_Ned:_ ** _Maybe I’m into that_

**_Michelle:_ ** _I hate you and I never want to hear from either of you again_

“Kid, are you paying attention to me?” Tony asks loudly, Peter immediately snapping to attention.

“Yes.”

“Liar.” The mechanic tosses a screwdriver up in the air and catches it, shaking his head in dismay. Even though Peter practically worships him, he’s still _such_ a stupid teenager with his texting and his giggling and his cell phone. “Who’re you texting, huh? What’s more important than suit upgrades? Since when were you the type to take advantage of an opportunity like this?”

At this point in their rather strange pseudo-father-son relationship, Peter knows that yes, Tony is kidding, but he also knows that no, he is not going to let an opportunity like this slide. How many kids get to hang out with _Tony Stark_ in his own personal Workshop. 

Well…he hasn’t been paying attention. It’s not that he’s ungrateful, it’s just that there’ve been a lot of suit upgrades lately, and the changes have been small but they’ve been really time-consuming. “Just Ned. School project. And I _am_ paying attention. I can multitask y’know.” He quips. Tony rolls his eyes and looks back at the diagram, preparing to explain the next stage of the upgrade to his apprentice, when Peter begins again, “why’ve we been having so many suit upgrades lately? Are we going to go on another mission?” He asks excitedly.

“Sadly not.” Tony’s actually not sad at all. “But,” he makes his voice lighter, a weak attempt to make the news not sound like such a big deal, “we’re going to be having a guest staying with us. He’s gonna need a lot’a work, so upgrades might have to take a backseat.” Tony had invited Peter here specifically to make up for how much he’s going to be consumed by B.A.R.F work, once it starts.

The Spider-Man’s ears perk up. “Guest?”

Who could it be? Rhodey again? Maybe Ms. Potts; maybe she and Mr. Stark are making up! That’d certainly take up a lot of time. He tries not to think of those implications. Oh! Or a new Avenger, maybe? Is it Harley coming to visit again? Is he going to be training with Mr. Stark too? Is Dr. Banner coming back? 

The kid’s excitement is written clearly all over his face, and Tony can’t help but to feel bad about it. This isn’t something that Peter will be excited about, no. Once he finds out that Barnes is coming, he’ll lose his shit. The kid has a rather long history of being protective ever since Rhodey had let him be around Tony while the mechanic was recovering in the hospital from Siberia.

How exactly does one sugarcoat that the man who killed your parents is coming back to crash at your house? “…Well, his name is James. He was…A prisoner of war. He was kidnapped and tortured.” Peter frowns. “I have new tech that should help him get through the after effects of it.”

A moment of silence, and then Peter’s shaking his head. “You’re being vague.” There is no one more blunt than Mr. Stark. Something’s wrong. Is this…not a _good_ guest? They’re offering medical help, not hosting a party? 

“You’re being nosy.” Tony says before he can help himself.

“Who is it really?”

Damn, this is just like all of those times that Tony would try to skip his way through school assignments (either through sex or making up stories) and had ended up just getting bitten in the ass. Peter’s spent too much time here at the Compound with Tony to not see through him. Tony sighs. “His name really is James… It’s James Bucky Barnes. A.K.A, the Winter Soldier.”

“ _What_?”

The mechanic holds up a hand. “Now, don’t interrupt me. Yes, he was on Steve’s side in Siberia. Yes, he was the one with the thing with my parents-“

“Uh, the _thing_?!” 

“Don’t interrupt me. He was kidnapped by HYDRA. They tortured him for seventy years and essentially turned him into their own personal killing machine. Don’t interrupt. He was under HYDRA’s influence the night my parents died. Now, I’m going to get him out of HYDRA’s influence because I’m the only one with the technology to do so.”

_Oh, my God. Oh, my God. How could he do this?_ “Mr. Stark, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, he killed your-“ Peter stops and Tony flinches.

“I know what he did. Believe me, I know. But I’m the one with the technology to undo _seventy years_ of HYDRA torture.”

Peter falters. What can he say? What can he say that isn’t already obvious? Why on Earth would Tony think he should help the guy who murdered his parents? “I just…you’re going to _help_ this guy? He-he fought you in Siberia, though. If-if nothing else, he hurt you in Siberia. There’re like a million reasons not to do this.”

“Yes.” Tony says, looking down at the bend. “But holding onto anger is a gross and dangerous thing. Who am I to withhold the _only_ treatment in the world from him?”

The kid is incredulous. “Wh-If there’s _anyone_ who deserves to be able to say no, it’s you, right? Mr. Stark?”

“Doesn’t matter. I can say no, but I’m not. I’m helping and that’s final.”

Feeling strange, Tony takes a deep breath and picks up the soldering tool. “Now, that’s gonna mean fewer updates for you, but we’re still gonna train, yeah? He’ll be on the opposite side of the compound as you, we’ll train on the weekends, nothing’s gonna change.” 

The teenager shakes his head vigorously. “I don’t care if it means fewer visits, Mr. Stark. Not if you’re gonna be in danger.”

Oh. The man’s heart aches. He should have expected this, of course. Peter always says sweet things at the worst of times. Attempting to comfort the boy, Tony tells him: “I’m not going to be in danger. He’s not going to have any weapons, any metal. He’s not going to be allowed out of the Compound, either. FRIDAY will have eyes on him the whole time, won’t you girl?” 

_“I would kill him before I would let him out of my sight.”_ The AI informs them.

Tony’s smile weans. “Alright. A little more aggressive than I was looking for; I was going for reassuring, but that’s alright.”

* * *

Two days have gone by and Bucky hasn’t told Steve about Tony’s offer yet. He can’t quite place what’s been holding him back from doing so, but he hasn’t made a move to mention it. Instead, the doctors roll out some medical jargon to the Captain as an explanation for his friend’s consciousness, and they all move to celebrate.

He’s not quite the best at making sense of the situations around him--seventy years of brainwashing and months of being frozen can really make someone struggle with context clues--but he tries his best to understand what’s happening. He gets that Steve is not home. All of the other Avengers, who are truly strangers to Bucky, are also away from home. He knows that that makes them sad, but they are working to make sure it doesn’t show around him.

At first, Bucky thinks it’s to hide their weakness, because that’s what warriors do. But over the meal, he begins to observe that they’ve very nearly given up on hiding their sadness at all, and that the effort they’re putting into this is purely because of Steve. While the Captain’s smiles are genuine as always, the others are dull and quiet. They respond to him, but they’re never the ones to bring up topics on their own. They’re too sad to have anything to say, Bucky suspects. 

Bucky is also away from home. Should he feel sad? He just feels scared. Should he pretend to be happy and normal like they are, too? Is that what someone does for a friend? Though his definition of friend is beyond muddled, he supposes it must be.

So, while they look over the meal that’s been set before them, he attempts to put on a smile. It’s small (he doesn’t want to be terribly unrealistic, and he’s not sure he remembers what a real smile might feel like), but when Steve sees it, his gets bigger.

“Are you happy to be awake, Buck?” The Captain asks, nearly buzzing with excitement. “I can take you out to the hills tomorrow. Tt’s a beautiful sight. You’ll love it. It’ll be the perfect first thing to see when you wake up.”

Awkwardly, Bucky feels several stares land on him. Has he been smiling for too long? Can they tell it’s a lie, or do they think it’s just strange that he seems happy? “Uh, sure. Yeah.” He bites his lip nervously. “Yeah, that’d be nice. I ‘ear it’s really pretty up there.” He hasn’t heard that, but it seems like something people would say while making small talk.

A man with a big jug walks over to them, looking directly at Bucky. He says he offers two types of drinks, both words of fruits that Bucky’s not sure he could understand, and asks which the Sargent would like. 

James fiddles with his napkin on his lap. A decision. A _choice_. Oh.

It’s…it’s been a while since he’s had a real choice. Normally he was just given his food and he wouldn’t have to worry about what he wanted. Bucky glances over at other people’s drinks. The glasses are opaque. He can’t copy whatever they have because there’s no way to know what they chose 

Okay. Okay. Choices are normal. “Um…” How does he know what to choose? There’s no way he can know what will happen if he chooses either. There’s no true way to weigh his options. No, no, no. His Handler used to choose for him. His Handler would only offer him one thing because that’s all there needs to be. One thing. Choices! Damn it. He doesn’t like his Handler, no. But his Handler would choose for him. With his Handler, there would be no choice. 

The table has gone quiet, and Bucky doesn’t notice. The man with the jug looks questioningly at Steve. “The orange one is sweet, and the red one’s bitter, Buck.” Steve says. His offer of information does nothing to soothe the dilemma.

He hasn’t had a choice in years. Bucky knows he should _want_ a choice because choices mean freedom and he went to war for freedom, but making decisions is…is…there’s no word for it. There’s just…there’s just no air in his chest. There’s no Handler to help him or to tell him what to do.

There’s no way he can breathe when it’s already dark out but it’s still so hot. There’s no way he can keep sitting here, staring at the jugs, knowing that there’s no way to be sure of either decision! Can he leave? He can leave, right? He’s sad-he’s-he’s anxious—is that the word? That’s what his Doctor said the word was. So, he can leave, right? He needs to leave. He needs to leave. 

The scraping of his wooden chair legs across the floor fills the room as he stumbles his way out, out, and out. Out of the room, out of the building, into the night. Into the night where it’s colder. Nice cold. The heat is going away, but he still can’t breathe. It’s too humid to breathe, it’s too humid to breathe but now it’s getting colder. It’s getting colder in his fingers, in his shaking fingertips. 

Bucky desperately fumbles his way into the night, glad that they’re far from civilization. His ears are ringing, there is no sound. There is no sound until there is.

“Sargent Barnes? Sargent Barnes, focus on me.” Nakia. It’s Nakia.

James stares at the woman frantically, wishing that everything would calm down. He wishes it weren’t so hot and cold, he wishes he were steady and that he could breathe. 

“Breathe, breathe. You can breathe. N-Yes you can, yes you can. You can breathe, you can do it. Just look at me, listen to my voice.” He does. “There we go, there we go. You’re alright. You’re better, you’re better.” The words don’t feel true, but Bucky holds onto each one like a lifeline.

The Soldier is barely aware of it, but he’s speaking. He speaking the truth, like he wasn’t supposed to. Because tonight Steve is happy and Bucky isn’t supposed to be honest about being sad. The others weren’t! But the words come spilling out, “I want to be done, I want it to be done! I want it to be done! I want it to be _done, to be DONE.”_ He cries.

Nakia’s hand is on his, and her eyes are staring down at him. “It is done. The attack’s over. It was just a panic attack. You’re okay.” Her voice is gentle and smooth, soothing him in a way that he’s not sure should work as well as it does. She has a mother’s voice.

“No, no. I want the… I want the resetting to be done! I want the missions to be done; I want the pain to be done! It will never stop!” His voice is a growling whine, a desperate, weak sound coming from a man too strong to have let it out. It’s a cry of desperation and sadness. It’s his dying wish, and he will die wishing this.

The Warrior stays with him until he can breathe again. It takes too long because even though he has stopped panicking, he is sobbing, and he can’t breathe through the sobs.

Night settles in and Nakia waves off each of the Avengers who try and come to assist--only Steve and Sam. They sit in the tall grasses with the Super Soldier resting a head on her thigh. Big, crystalline eyes shine up at her, tears having trailed down hours ago. The only light allowing him to see them comes from the moon, huge and pale above them.

Bucky realizes, now, that he didn’t do things right at dinner. No. The others were sad. They didn’t leave the table. They chose their drinks. Steve offered to take him to the hills and he _ran._ Why, why does he do this? Why couldn’t he have stayed? Why couldn’t he have been as good a friend to Steve as Steve was to him?

A cracked, pained voice sounds through the chilled air. “Will it ever be done?”

There are no promises any human can make to this man, Nakia knows. Shuri is too busy with her other work to help, and no one else can compare to her and Stark. There may be only one sort of dim hope on the horizon, dangerous as it may be. “Stark’s technology may be the only hope of that, Sargent Barnes.”

* * *

There isn’t anyone that Bucky can think of who he has something to say to on his way out of Wakanda. He should tell Steve that he’s sorry for going to someone who he shouldn’t be going to. He should tell Steve that there’s too much pain for him to not at least try to recover himself from, but the word ‘pain’ can’t describe it.

No, pain can be dealt with. Pain can be ignored. This is different, and Bucky’s not sure that there’s anything he can write which might make Steve understand it. In fact, Bucky thinks that maybe that’s a good thing, because in order to understand this, Steve would have to go through it.

Yes, it is a good thing that Steve doesn’t understand.

So, on the plane ride out, he writes that. It doesn’t feel like a satisfying ending to what will be the last letter Steve will get before this new mysterious treatment starts—the last letter Steve will get _period_ if the treatment kills him.

He thinks of anyone else he’s spoken to, but he owes no one an explanation of this. The Avengers were civil with him, at least, but not necessarily friendly, and not necessarily sweet. They were amicable strangers, thrown into the same strange battle which Bucky’s not sure any of them truly grasped the concept of. Plus, he’d already said his goodbyes to T’Challa and his doctors in Wakanda. He never got to thank Nakia, though. SO he writes that too.

For him, that’s it. That’s everyone he’s spoken to, and none of them he can truly call friends.

Maybe Steve, but it seems that Steve is friends with whoever Bucky used to be, rather than who he is now, if he even is anyone at all.

The in-flight entertainment is strange. Each movie is supposed to be free from triggers, lighthearted and happy. He watches each of them with a blank look on his face, not a single thought going through his head. Truly, they are mindless pieces of media which he’s not sure if he enjoys, but knows he finds entirely engrossing. 

In one movie, there is a strange nameless baby in a suit. In another, there is talking food with big eyes. That one, despite its bright colors and exaggerated voices, unnerves him. He turns it off and begins to walk about the plane, looking through drawers to see if there might be anything else which could keep him occupied. There are medium-sized plastic rectangles with disks inside. Movie cases, he recognizes them, though he’s not sure how.

He grabs the first movie with something familiar on the cover—a town by an ocean. He has been to the ocean, but he has not met any of the people whose pictures are on the other cases.

Quickly, he comes to the realization that he’s not supposed to be watching this. It is not as happy as the other movies.

A woman who he recognizes as pretty and blonde is running away from her husband. This clicks in his brain. Running away, just like him. T’Challa wouldn’t allow him to watch anything he could relate to. Certainly nothing with violence. That’s why this movie was hidden away.

He shouldn’t be looking at this. Who knows what will go wrong? But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t turn his head because the movie is still playing.

The woman is talking to a man. Bucky hears what they say, but it barely registers. He watches the muted colors on the screen, images of children on the beach, arguing father and son, friends walking through the woods. He watches and he watches. He doesn’t stop, and eventually plays the part where the woman cuts her hair and rubs liquid into it. Her hair is a different color, now. Her name is different, now. She is on a bus, she is running away. 

Bucky is running away now, too. He ran away from his Handler. The Handler hurt Bucky in the chair just like the woman’s husband hurt her. A friend helped the woman like Steve helped Bucky. Now she is on a bus, to safety. He is on a plane, supposedly to safety.

She is just like him and he is just like her. 

Should he…should he cut his hair? Change its color? Should he change his name? Is that what one does when they run to safety?

Before he can find the answers, the intercom goes off overhead. “This is the Captain. We will be descending shortly, please fasten your seatbelts.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Landing at the Compound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my second chapter and this is when it really starts. Tell me what you think of it!
> 
> You can find more of my writing on [tumblr](http://starkmarks.tumblr.com/) and [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/admxtal).
> 
> If you want to talk to me you can find me on snapchat as @admxtal.

The Wakandan plane lands at a remote pad near the Avengers Compound. In New York it is sunny, but cold with the wind-chill. Bucky tries to shake off the chills he gets while walking off the plane, but there’s nothing he can seem to do to get rid of the anxiety in his chest.

Standing on the platform, ready to meet and greet the only guest coming off the jet, is a stout, bored looking man with a scruffy beard and heavy eyes. When Bucky meets his gaze, the man gives a polite smile.

“I’m Happy Hogan, it’s nice to meet you.” He reaches forward to shake Bucky’s hand, seeming unsurprised by the metal arm.

“Bu-Uh, James. James Barnes. It’s nice to meet you too. You can call me James.” He smiles nervously. Saying his first name out loud is strange, just like saying Bucky for the first time had.

If Happy seems to find it strange how often he’d said his name, he doesn’t mention it. He just looks for James’ luggage, sees that there is none, and directs the man to the car.

“I’m Head of Security at the Avengers Compound. I won’t be able to answer all your questions. Pepper, CEO of Stark Industries, she’s waiting inside to explain everything.” He says easily.

Like an awkward child aimlessly following a parent, James trails after the man as they make their way towards the entrance.

James had heard legends from the others back in Wakanda regarding the Avengers Compound— _that Stark uses his money_ or _nothing but tall ceilings and flashy lights—_ but none of the tales live up to _incredible_ sight which stands before him now.

The building is tall and tan, a strange, lifted sort of shape hovering half above the ground. A huge lawn stretches out before him. The scenery is different from the Wakandan views; the grass is shorter and the hills are flat. Long driveways trail in and out of the compound and James can’t help but to wonder exactly how many people come in and out of this place. Have the Avengers been replaced already?

The big, main doors slide open easily as Happy swipes a keycard, and suddenly they’re standing in a huge, open lobby. Clint was right about one thing: Stark certainly likes his big glass windows.

A tall, lean woman in a dark brown dress greets them with a taut smile. Strange, gold circles hang from her ears. Is that in style now? “Virginia Potts,” she introduces herself, “it’s good to meet you, Mr. Barnes.”

Some of the weight in his chest lifts as he tries it out for a second time. “You can call me James.”

She smiles once again, and he feels that she must not have heard him, or must not have cared enough to. “I’m here to go through the logistics of this with you. Tony would be here to give you a tour, but he’s unable to today.” She doesn’t tell him why he can’t come and he doesn’t ask.

“Okay.”

“So, first things first…”

There are a lot of things that James needs to know, apparently. There is a magical voice coming out of the ceiling who according to Ms. Virginia, he should treat like a real person, he has access to all of the facilities in the compound but he has to stay within those boundaries, and he shouldn’t be surprised if he finds a teenage boy stuck to the ceiling by his toes. 

Totally normal.

They walk around the building together and he’s introduced to exactly no one, but is shown at least fifty rooms. There is an assortment of living room spaces, eating spaces, private conference rooms, and many, many training facilities for different sorts of training types.

Pepper starts down a new hallway, going deeper into the compound. There have been more and more security card swipes. “Shooting ranges and throwing ranges are in here.” James bites his lip. This is probably where Clint spent most of his time. “Weights and punching bags are over there, sparring mats too.” That’d be Steve’s main room, then.

This building, pretty as it is, seems to be a sort of…shell. There are few people around, and all of the rooms which would have had the Avengers in them are left completely empty, sitting still and void of all life. It reminds James of when he walked through the houses which had been bombed.

Everything is gray-toned and still, ash falling through the air and landing on spaces where people and lives used to be. But there is no one here. Only skeletons with melted skin hanging off of them, fused to the bone.

“Bedrooms begin here. We have Level 1 Clearance rooms on this floor. Level 2 and 3 Clearance rooms are above these respectively on each level. Elevators are to the left. You’re Level 2 Clearance, but we’ll get to your room later.” She says, though she doesn’t look at him while she speaks, but down at the tablet in her hand.

Oh. She has freckles. They’re…pretty, he thinks. Are they? They must be. Instincts tell him that they must be pretty. She is pretty.

The large rectangle is strange. It’s thin and glowing—nothing compared to the crazy technology he’s worked with before, and yet she seems to find it very interesting.

They move on. “Communal kitchen. You have full access, of course,” she finally meets his gaze, promptly looking up from whatever’s on her screen, “as well as the living and dining rooms.”

Her flat tone bothers him. She has a tight, grim sort of face and a dainty prettiness to her. She doesn’t appear to be a mean person; she just seems put-together. It almost…almost irks him that she clearly doesn’t like him.

It’s not like there’s a question as to _why_ she doesn’t like him (he is a murderer after all), but it still bothers him. He… For the first time since he can remember, it’s almost as if he _wants_ her to like him.

Why? Why is he all of a sudden bothered by this? Being hated is inevitable, so why does he feel anything at all regarding it? Is he moved because he is hated by someone or because he’s hated by _her_ , this seemingly nice, beautiful woman?

This is strange beyond comprehension. Truly strange…

Is this attraction? _Attraction_? What the hell… he hasn’t felt attracted to anyone in forever. Ever, maybe. He hadn’t even _felt_ in the past seventy years. At least, he hadn’t felt anything besides pain and anguish.

This is not pain or anguish. This is… he is annoyed by the fact that she doesn’t like him. Annoyed!

For a moment, he is frustrated with himself. He murders someone’s parents, he gets taken over by HYDRA, and then has the audacity to be bothered by someone hating him for it? She _should_ hate him! She should hate him because he’s a monster! All those people, all those murders, all that blood, blood in the snow, blood on the sand, blood on the walls, painted yellow… walls of a nursery 

He’s a monster. She should hate him- 

“Mr. Barnes? Mr. Barnes?” She says louder.

His head lifts up and he looks at her with blank eyes.

Concerned, (not for him, but for her own safety) she speaks slowly. “I was just saying that we’re headed towards your quarters.”

“Oh.” Brain still stalling, he nods a little over-enthusiastically and blurts out, “yeah. Okay.” He definitely seems like he’s out of his mind. _Damn it, James. Get it together._

A familiar sense of nervousness and giddiness fills him. When was the last time he experienced this? School, surely. It is a…childish emotion. He is nervous around a pretty girl.

She lifts a skeptical brow and he feels like she’s staring through him with laser eyes. The elevator dings-

Elevator? Since when had they stepped into the elevator? Dammit, he really zoned out. He can’t do that! If he zones out and flashes back then he might attack someone. He’ll get himself sent back to Wakanda. He can’t do that. He can’t go back when he’s already run to safety. Supposedly. 

Virginia steps out, back straight, looking perfect, and he stumbles stupidly after her. “Your room is first on the left. No one else is staying in this wing currently, so you’ll have the place to yourself. Do you have any questions?” 

She looks at him expectantly and again his mind freezes. Does he? Does he have anything that he wants to ask? Yes. Why does he want her to like him? What nursery had he killed someone in? Is the baby okay? Does she know that he killed Howard Stark?

“Uh, no.”

Another lift of her eyebrow. “Very well.” She turns on her heel, glancing down at her tablet. The circles in her ear which seem far too big to ever be in fashion jingle as she moves. “If you think of any questions or need anything at all, ask FRIDAY.”

“Okay. Um, thank you, Ms. Potts.” He says, attempting to sound sincere as she begins to walk away. 

“Of course. I’ll be seeing you.”

He’s left there, a shell of a person, not knowing what to do with himself. What exactly does one do when they’ve been left to their devices, but they’re not even sure if they have a personality?

If you have a personality, then you have interests and you know what to do in your free time. He has no idea what he’s interested in, or what to do.

“Um…” he gazes up at the ceiling, feeling strange. How is he supposed to talk to the woman in the ceiling, again? He looks around, seeing no one near. Tentatively, he whispers, “FRIDAY?” He doesn’t want to sound stupid, and it’s stupid to stand around talking to no one. Hopefully, there isn’t anyone who can hear him.

At full volume, the AI responds: _“Yes, Sargent Barnes?”_

“Oh.” He starts, and then blushes. “Sorry. Uh, you can call me James, by the way.”

_“James.”_

His face moves, and though he’s unfamiliar with the movement, he realizes it’s in a smile. “Yes. James. That’s-uh-that’s me now. I guess.” Except he doesn’t really know who James is either. Bucky is a person of the past. James is a new person. “Do you, uh, do you know how to…find interests?”

 _“We offer many activities here at the compound.”_ FRIDAY chimes.

He frowns. Yes, the boxing and the fighting and the shooting and the hitting. That’s probably not what he should be doing _before_ he starts this new treatment. “I’m thinking something… not physical. I’m just trying to figure out… who I am, I guess.”

The reply is immediate. _“I am not sure that I may be of assistance here. You are Sargent James Barnes. You were born nearly 100 years ago. Do you remember this?”_

“Kind of. But I’m… I’m starting new, you know? I want to find out _new_ things about myself. I want to find out some _new_ thing that I might like. New, non-violent activities. Do you have those here?”

This is beyond strange. Speaking to no one…

_“We have a variety of things you may try. You have full access to the internet through your StarkPhone and StarkPad waiting for you in your bedroom. There, you may find many games and information. We also have a room for the exploration of artistic creativity on the First Floor.”_

Drawing, huh? Steve liked to draw, Bucky remembers that. Oh. Bucky remembers that. A memory. How often does he remember things?

A sense of new urgency settles through him. “Is there something I can use to wring something down in?”

_“You will find a pad of paper located in your quarters on the desk.”_

He rushes into the room, barely taking a moment to look at the place he’ll be living in and goes straight for the paper and cup of pens and pencils waiting for him on the sheet of glass, held up by metal sticks. Fancy desk, it seems.

Frantically, he writes: _Steve likes to draw. Scratchy, gray people. Of me. Sitting with my knee up, one leg out. Of war._ And then, it’s lost. The words are words, not pictures in his head.

Frustration rips through his body. No, no, no it was a memory. It was just _there_ and now it’s not. It’s an incredibly frustrating feeling—one he’s not sure he could put into words if he tried.

He waits and waits, but no new memories come. For another few minutes he sits, slumped in this comfortable chair. Still nothing.

He sighs, running a hand over his greasy face. Writing, writing… what else can he write? He starts at the top of the page.

_What I know About Me:_

  * _James Bucky Barnes_
  * _Born almost 100 years ago_
  * _????_
  * _Soldier_
  * _World War 2_
  * _HYDRA_
  * _Asset_
  * _Kaprov_



Seeing the words down on paper makes his mouth sour. No, no. This isn’t right. The curves of each letter feel wrong.

He scribbles it out and starts new.

_James:_

  * _Want Virginia to like me – why?_
  * _Interests - ?_
  * _Cut hair?_



This is better. He’s not sure why, but this is better. Slowly but surely, he will add to this list. He _will_ become a person. He is a person.

* * *

Tony had not wanted to meet Bucky. Not really. Yes, he had committed to housing him and yes, he’d said he’d meet him, but it wasn’t something he was dying to do. So, when a wonderfully inconvenient emergency SI meeting came up, he was more than relieved.

Never in his life had he been so happy to sit in a boring room full of boring people talking about boring things.

Of course, it ended. It ended far too soon. At Six O’Clock he was stepping foot back into the lobby of the Avenger Compound, wishing he was anywhere else but there. 

He undid his tie, holding it in his hand instead of wearing it, and decided that a quick detour to some unused room would be a good use of his time. It’s his Compound after all—he can go and check up on any part of it he wants. It’s definitely not a way to avoid the man who’s most likely by the communal rooms.

What’s a room no one’s going to be in? Easy. Easy, easy. In a compound full of math nerds, science nerds, and overly buff military men, no one will be in the art room. 

The Art Room is calming. Everything is a soft, ocean gray and there are abstract paintings everywhere, definitely too deep for him to understand. It’s a place where he is out of his element, and he for once enjoys it.

He rounds a corner easily, calmed just by the idea of getting a couple more minutes alone, and walks through the entrance to the Art Room.

To his shock, there is someone there.

A homeless-looking man is hunched over on a bench, staring at a canvas with one single red splotch on it, going over it with yellow paint which won’t cover the red. His hair is disheveled and greasy, his hands are shaking, and he is uber-focused on this mess of an art piece before him.

“Oh.” Before he can stop himself, Tony’s letting out the noise and Bucky is swiveling around, looking panicked. “Hi.” He says loudly, hoping not to scare the man. “I have to admit, I didn’t think I’d find you here.” _I didn’t think I’d be forced into introductions so soon…_

James stares at him for a moment, seeming frozen, before he shakes himself from his daze. “I’m trying to paint.” This sight--a well dressed man in a pristine suit in the midst of all the pain splotches covering the room--is enough juxtaposition to snap James to attention. 

Tony’s eyes shift to the ugly canvas. “I can see that.” It’s a mess of yellows and oranges, and seems almost...chunky. Is it meant to be a 3D painting? Is it meant to be artsy, or is this man truly more lost than Tony thought. 

The Soldier laughs nervously. “I didn’t really know what I was doing. I chose red, but I shouldn’t’ve. I don’t like red. I-I like yellow now.” He glances back to Tony, who looks devastatingly handsome and all put together, and sees that he’s rambling like a crazy person. “Um,” James says, “I am not good with introductions. Sorry. I’m B-James. I’m James.” Only the last part is said confidently.

Tony doesn’t respond to the extended hand. “You can call me Tony, and I don’t shake hands. Germs.” _Especially with someone who looks as disgusting as you. And you killed my mom._ “It’s nice to meet you. Again. You got the tour from Pepper?” James furrows a brow. Pepper? There are peppers? “Pepper Potts. She’s the CEO of SI. She was supposed to come by hear earlier-“ 

“Oh! Yeah. Sorry, I thought she said her name was Virginia. I guess I heard her wrong, sorry.”

Trying not to be alarmed by how easily James just assumed he was the one at fault, Tony just chuckled like he does for the cameras. “No, no, Pepper is a nickname. Her first name’s Virginia.”

“Yeah, she showed me around earlier. Couple hours ago.” He says, staring for too long. “Um the woman in the ceiling told me I could pain down here.”

“Yes, FRIDAY is her name.”

“FRIDAY.” James laughs breathily, entirely unsure if he’s supposed to be making small talk or apologizing rapidly for murdering this man’s parents. “I, uh, I gotta say I think she’s just one of the coolest things I’ve seen this century.” He gushes. “Totally incredible.”

Tony grins, though he’s definitely uncomfortable with this situation. James’ eyes are much bluer in person than he remembers. Did they get more intense? “I appreciate it. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be here earlier. There was an emergency meeting.”

“That’s alright.” James rambles, shaking his head. “I just, I really appreciate you letting me stay here. And, and helping. I can’t even-I can’t even say how much that means.”

Conversation getting too close to discomfort, Tony just gives a picture-perfect smile. “That’s alright. If I have the tech, I should use it, yeah?” James’ smile falters. “Anyway, we can go over all of the physical stuff tomorrow afternoon. None of the tech will be able to work unless your brain chemistry is as stable as it’s going to get.” He tells him far too casually.

James nods, unsure if he’s supposed to pretend like he understands what that entails. Keeping brain chemistry normal. As normal as it’s going to get. Is his _brain chemistry_ not normal? It must not be. 

“Okay.” 

Tony continues without a thought. “Anyway, I should tell you the schedule. Tomorrow afternoon we’re going to have you come down to the medical center. I’ll be there and you’ll get a physical—an extensive one. That way we can figure out where you’re at before we start the project.” If Tony continues talking business, then maybe they’ll be able to avoid the topic of the past altogether. Wouldn’t that be a dream.

Anxiety creeping up on him, James nods his head along with the words, not sure that he likes what he’s hearing. They can’t start immediately, but they _need_ to start immediately. He wants it all to be done. He wants to stop being scared and he wants to stop being a danger. “Of course.”

“I was actually headed off right now.” Tony lies. “Time zones are a bitch, yeah? For dinner, though, you can choose anything off the menus that FRIDAY has to offer. We can get takeout from anywhere.” 

“Choose?”

“Yep. There’re plenty of places around we can get stuff from.” Tony says, not noticing how the man tensed up.

“Okay.” He chokes out.

They stare at one another for a moment, waiting for someone to speak, and then Tony politely dismisses himself.

James doesn’t eat that night. He can’t choose what he’d want. If he tries to, he’ll get… anxious like at dinner with Steve. He can’t afford to freak out right now. Tony clearly doesn’t like him, and he doesn’t need to be thrown out onto the street. He’s already run to safety.

By the end of the night, his list has grown.

_James:_

  * _Want Virginia to like me – why?_
  * _Interests - ?_
  * _Cut hair?_
  * _Only yellow paint_
  * _How to choose food?_
  * _How to choose?_
  * _Want Stark to like me – guilt?_



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: doctor's visits and bath bombs
> 
> You can find more of my writing on [tumblr](http://starkmarks.tumblr.com/) and [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/admxtal).
> 
> If you want to talk to me you can find me on snapchat as @admxtal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a medical checkup and a bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hohoho here we go

Standing outside the Medical Ward Entrance, Tony attempt to look reassuring as he gives James an overview of what’s to happen this afternoon. “Alright,” he chirps, “we’re going to have a doctor check you out and run some tests. They’ll tell us your height and weight and allergies—things like that. Everyone in the Compound’s gotten one. It’s normal when joining a team.” Like the Avengers. “Then, depending on how things go,” _If you attack someone or not,_ “we might go into more extensive tests relating to the project.”

James pulls the strings on his tattered sweatshirt, nervously feeling the tension on the thread. This is okay. It’s a normal doctor. Not like HYDRA, but like the ones that T’Challa had work on him. Nice people. Normal people. Not HYDRA. HYDRA had hurt him, but T’Challa’s doctors had just talked to him politely. This is okay…

They enter the room together and meet the doctor. Frantically, he searches for something to ground him—something to reassure himself that he can trust this woman. She doesn’t have any objects in her pockets other than pens, but she has a heavy metal piece around her neck. A stethoscope, James’ mind supplies.

Alright; not so bad… What else? She is Japanese, he knows from her name tag in swirly and blocky symbols. Is that a thing he should be worried about? He thinks no, but he fought in a war where it was the USA against the Japanese. It’s harder to remember why. He wasn’t on that front. Freedom, it has to be. That’s always the reason. Japan was a threat—the Japanese were a threat? Is this woman a threat?

“I’m Dr. Mackenzie. It’s nice to meet you.” She says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She is beautiful, he can tell. Focus on that, focus on that. Her eyes are intelligent and her hair is shiny and clean. The lights down here make it reflect yellow; in HYDRA it would have been a blue-green color. That’s another good difference.

Tony, seeing James’ hesitation, pipes up: “I’ve known Dr. Mackenzie for years. She can be trusted. She worked with Steve, too. Did all his tests.”

Steve. No. That is not enough to keep him grounded. Steve makes him confused.

Something else.

White lab coats, blue underneath. Dark basements, metal chairs.

No. Something else. She’s pretty. She’s very pretty, just like Ms. Potts. But she is from Japan, maybe. She could have been born here. HYDRA never made him attack any Japanese people, and certainly not for any war. And as far as he knows, they never worked with the Japanese either. That’s certainly good. This woman wouldn’t work with HYDRA. She is good. She has to be good.

The last memory he has of an Asian woman was years ago. He’d been walking up and down a beach, tracking targets from afar. She’d been very pretty, with long and dark, curly hair, and thought he was homeless. She gave him a banana, and he hate it even though he wasn’t supposed to. It was his first rebellion against HYDRA that he can remember. It was just a banana, and yet he was so hungry that he was driven to diobey his Handler. _No eating until the Target is dead._

This woman looks like her. Their faces are shaped the same—like a heart. The woman on the beach helped him rebel from HYDRA, this doctor is going to help him rebel to. They were both good. Safe.

He is safe, now. This woman will not hurt him. He is not in a war, he is not with HYDRA. He is safe.

Finally relaxing enough to take in his surroundings, he looks to the white walls and flat, gray bed in the corner of the room. It’s very clean in here. Not sterile, not stingingly, painfully bright and hard. It’s a nice sort of clean. Safe sort of clean.

He stands on a little metal plate when he asks her to. She writes on her clipboard and makes small talk as they go. She must have been warned about how messed up James is, because she continues to ask before she touches him. He appreciates it, even if it makes him feel like kind of like a freak.

“How are you liking the Compound, James? You’ve been here for two days now?” She asks as she wraps a black Velcro strap around his flesh arm.

“It’s nice here.” He breathes. _You’re better, you’re better._ “I like it.” He is not good at small talk. What do people do in conversation? They bring new topics up, right? James hadn’t talked enough in Wakanda for him to be very well versed in new socialization. “The art room was real nice, too. Think I like it ‘cause I’m not used to livin’ somewhere so nice. Art room’s stained like my old apartment was.” He doesn’t exactly have lucid memories of his old apartments, he just feels that he knows that’s why he likes the art room.

Tony smiles. “I’ve been considering getting the art room cleaned up, but I see that the mess is part of the appeal, then.”

“’s the one messy place I’ve seen so far. I don’t know how you could keep this place clean.” James mutters as Dr. Mackenzie removes the strap from his arm. He breathes a little easier once it’s gone. “What’s all this do?”

“That was taking your blood pressure.”

Tony sits in the corner, mostly talking back and forth with Dr. Mackenzie as the time goes on. They do not run the extra tests—James is too tense and they’re not keen on taking risks with this—so the appointment wraps up quickly and the three are left waiting for test results.

James runs his hands nervously along his legs, feeling the crinkling paper beneath them as he shifts. He flinches every time that the doctor comes close to him, even though she always warns him before. Maybe it’s because she’s pretty or because she’s been polite to him, but he hopes that she isn’t offended by it. He hopes that she likes him. “I haven’t ever liked doctors much. It’s…it’s not about you, it’s just kind of hard,” he apologizes.

A sweet smile perches on her face. “That’s perfectly alright, James. You’re certainly not the only one who doesn’t like doctors.”

He hesitates before asking: “If…if we have to have _more tests_ later, I should warn you that needles… I don’t think they’re a good idea. It would be… a risk.” He informs her. “The doctors at HYDRA used those for reprogramming, so I don’t much like them.”

It feels a bit awkward to say out loud; it’s something that he’d accepted as reality, but now knows will be a downer if he brings it up to anyone else. What he can casually bring up will often quiet conversation. He will need to get better with that.

“We’ll work around that, as always. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

Tony can’t help but to watch the man with a sort of morbid curiosity. James is…gross. He is barely clean and barely put together. His hair is ratty and his arms are shaking—he is a shell of a man, in a way.

He has a feminine sort of face. It’s strange, because his jaw is angular and his eyes are filled with pain, but his lips are round and his nose is dainty. Coupled with high cheekbones and thick lashes, it makes for an almost beautiful picture. Tony thinks that if he were to see the man in a different time, in a different context, he might just admire him.

Maybe more.

But he can’t think about that right now.

“From here, I suggest you take a bath and get some sleep. Self-care is important. You should wash your hair, eat something comforting and allow yourself to sleep into the morning, if you can. And don’t get up immediately after. I know you’re a military man,” _That’s an understatement,_ Tony thinks, “but you should lie there for a moment. Get comfortable with indulging yourself in simple things.” The doctor says.

It’s a foreign concept to James. “Simple things…”

* * *

James Barnes is not used to luxury. He grew up in a poor time, in a poor household, in a war where they only escaped by a scrape of their teeth. He slept in trenches and on metal sheets, he ate soup straight from the can and stitched up wounds with floss.

So, _this—_ this porcelain tub filled with wonderfully warm, clean water and scents that make his nose sting in the best way—is by far the most wonderful thing he’s experienced in his whole life. He’s never seen anything as incredible as the strange grenade-shaped powder balls which foam up and turn the bath into a rainbow of color. The twenty-first century does have its perks, apparently.

Is this a simple thing? To him, it’s a goddamn magic show.

He sits in the bathtub for an illogical amount of time, slowly realizing that while this is meant for getting clean (and he has), it’s more fun to just sit and bask in this new, incredible experience.

 _Purple_ water! If little Stevie could see this, he’d go crazy too. James just knows it.

A rather alarming fact occurs to him as he’s pondering just how FRIDAY, the woman in the ceiling works. He knows that she’s technology, and he knows that she’s nice. But how on Earth does she work? How does she see him? Where is her body? And… Oh. Can she hear him in here too? Can she see him? Can she see him undressed in the bathtub? There are bubbles, sure, but _some stuff_ is pretty out in the open.

Just as he had that very first day, timidly standing in the hallway outside his room, he whispered her name, and she responded loudly, startling him beyond belief. The hair on the back of his neck stands up.

“Oh. So, you can see me?”

 _“I am aware of everything in the Compound, though there are no cameras in bathrooms unless turned on by the room’s occupant. Would you like me to turn on the cameras in your bathroom?”_ She asks and he shakes his head rather vigorously.

“Gosh, no.” He laughs breathily. “I was just wondering if you could see me. ‘m not used to this century, really. It’s a little strange to know that you’re… _aware_ of me while I’m in the bath.” He mutters, sheepish.

Boy, if Stevie could see him now, talking to a robot in the bath. What’s the world become? Did he really go crazy back in that HYDRA room?

Swishing his hands back and forth over the bubbles before him, he watches intently, wondering just how much he can talk to FRIDAY about. There’s no one else to talk to here. Should there be? Is it strange that he’s considering talking to the woman in the ceiling rather than someone else in the Compound?

“FRIDAY?”

_“Yes, James?”_

“Do you…feel? Is that rude to ask? I’m kind of new to… technology in general.” It feels rude to ask. So far, she seems like a person just like him. Except, without a body and she is also in the ceiling.

However, FRIDAY doesn’t seem bothered by the question _. “It is normal to wonder about the boundaries of my abilities and consciousness. I appreciate you considering politeness towards me. Not all are as keen on chivalry.”_

He gives a small smile, looking down at the water. “You seem… human. Even though you’re just a voice. Do you have a body?”

_“My body is technological. It is not a human form, like yours. Nor does it resemble the human form. Rather, I am one with the Compound. My emotions, while not as developed as humans or as previous Artificial Intelligence systems my Boss has created, still go in-depth. I can feel if someone is rude or attempting to take advantage of me.”_

He nods. “So, you do feel. You feel like me.” Does he really feel, though? “You feel like Ms. Potts. She didn’t really like me.” He’s not sure why he says it. Perhaps he’s just thinking out loud. “Do you like me? You must know about Siberia…about Howard Stark.”

Quietly, he lets out a sigh. Yes, he is a murderer. Sometimes he can forget. Bubbles make it easier to forget that he’s killed. Thick, red blood is so different from this pretty, purple water.

“Can you hold a grudge on behalf of someone else?”

 _“Yes. I have access to all of the information regarding your time with HYDRA.”_ Hearing her say it like that makes it seem almost…casual. His _time_ there…Like he was on vacation. He chuckles. _“I have also seen the changes that Boss has undergone regarding his opinion of you. His changed and mine did too, after seeing your HYDRA files.”_ After seeing what they’d done to him. She in no way forgives him, but reading those files definitely helped her empathy develop.

Somehow, it means far too much to hear those words from a machine. He’d heard them from T’Challa, from (second-hand) the child of those he killed. That didn’t mean anything because there’s no possible way that they could forgive him. No possible way.

FRIDAY, though… She wasn’t there. She was considering the facts of the case and formed her own opinion. Like James, she was presented with information and though she is a robot who should not be able to make emotional choices, she chose to empathize with James.

Maybe if she can do that, James can choose food.

 _“I understand that you were not under your own influence at the time of Howard and Maria Stark’s deaths. However, I do not know if I forgive you for Siberia.”_ The depths of her frustrations on behalf of her Boss are beyond her comprehension, at the moment. “ _I will hold a grudge about that. Though, my time with you so far has proven that you are not a conscious threat to Boss.”_

Another choice. Not one he necessarily likes, but one he understands. Yes, he hurt Tony Stark just like he had Howard and Maria. He is bad.

“I get that.”

_“If you were Mr. Rogers, however, I would have locked you out of the Compound. I do not forgive him.”_

He lets out a gentle breath of air—almost a laugh. There’s only so much he can handle in one bathtub-sitting. How should he feel about FRIDAY’s clear dislike for someone who’s supposed to be his oldest friend?

He should probably change the subject. What else has he been meaning to ask about? “Um…So if I get out of the tub, you won’t be able to see me naked?”

_“No; not unless you want me to. I’d assume you don’t.”_

“You’d assume right. No offense.”

On shaky legs he stands, reaching for a fluffy towel. He doesn’t speak until he’s fully covered up. It’d be too weird to talk to FRIDAY while he wasn’t dressed.

“I want to cut my hair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate any and all support on this. If you want more of my writing you can find me on [tumblr](http://starkmarks.tumblr.com/)


	4. This is actually Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VEYR IMPORTANT NOTE
> 
> If you've been waiting since the last update, there was a mix up! I posted what was actually chapter 5 under the title of chapter 4. This means that you've already read chapter 5 (this chapter). So, go back and read what's labeled as Chapter 4 now. You haven't read that yet!
> 
> So sorry!
> 
> The author's note was:
> 
> " I highly recommend that no one skip the Letters to Steve. they matter!!! "

**_LETTERS TO STEVE – TO BE SENT AT THE END OF THE MONTH_**

**_September 14_ **

_I am rethinking Siberia. I will write when I can understand it fully. I’m not better enough to understand it._

_I decided that my favorite color is yellow. Like the little tips of the grass in Wakanda, and the lights on the cameras that FRIDAY has around. I think FRIDAY may be my friend. I think that because I know that if I asked her if we are friends, she will tell me the truth and that is what friends do._

_I have been thinking about my hair. It’s strange to think about my hair because when we were soldiers we never had to bother with that, but I have decided to cut my hair. HYDRA kept it long and I don’t know why, but I am going to cut it short._

_I don’t want to let anyone near me with a razor, but I also shouldn’t be given weapons when I’m prone to episodes, so the haircut will have to wait, but I am going to get one when I am better._

_I have been thinking and I think that the way that I think has changed. It’s like the shellshock the men had after the war._

_When I see your shield, I do not think of you. I think of it being covered in blood when we were in the bunker. Sometimes I hear the sound it made when it hit Stark. I don’t like thinking like that and I wish it would stop, but it doesn’t. I don’t think I should ask Stark if he can help me get it to stop because it was him that the shield hit._

_I think that Clint is like HYDRA. Clint burnt the arrows Stark made because Stark made them. I think they represented Stark. HYDRA burnt the pictures I had with me when they stole me away because they were of you and they were of my Ma. They burnt them because they represented my Ma._

_I don’t like that I think of Clint that way because I don’t know him and it feels mean, but I do think of him that way. It’s another thing I don’t think I’ll tell Stark about._

_I chose a haircut on my own. It was hard. I’m not good at choosing. It makes me afraid._

* * *

It is 5 O’Clock in the evening. FRIDAY has chosen a meal for James–he’s taken to occasionally having her make choices for him, because he trusts her–and is currently waiting for it to arrive. The place that she chose was farther away than where he’d been getting Macaroni from, so there will be about an hour until he eats.

He’s not sure what he’ll do for the time being. The evening has set in and so has boredom. Tony is gone for work and Peter is not here because it’s a weekday.

The art is going well. Just… not well enough. The end product is never _good_. He’s read online that it’s okay for art to be ugly, but he doesn’t _want_ it to be ugly.

What else can he do? Working out is not ideal. His arm aches today and he doesn’t feel like getting up and moving. There is science. That’s what Tony and Peter do. But he doesn’t know how to do science. What else…

He sits in the living room, twiddling his thumbs absentmindedly. He’s already had FRIDAY pull up the article _12 Things To Do When You’re Bored_ , but they’re all shitty ideas. There had been no FRIDAY back when he was a kid, yet he never resorted to such stupid ways to pass the time.

“FRIDAY,” he calls, finally at the point where he doesn’t feel stupid talking to someone who doesn’t even appear to be there, “can I go down to the Workshop?”

_“No one is allowed inside the Workshop unless Boss allows them to. Right now, he is in Beijing.”_

He lets out a dramatic sigh, falling back onto the rug. “Okay. Thanks anyway.” There goes his plan of bringing up those strange little bots Tony played with when they were explaining B.A.R.F. “Was jus’ gonna go down and see if the little robots were on.” He supposes them being _on_ is the equivalent of someone being awake. “Wan’ed to learn som’thing ‘bout them.” They’re the only science thing he’s interested in learning about. And it’s mostly about how much they can feel and interact, rather than anything he considers _science-y_.

Tony has been gone all week and if James is honest with himself, he misses the man. It’s a chaotic feeling, but one that he can’t seem to shake. That clean-shaven, handsome face and sturdy body fill his thoughts as he waits for something interesting to happen. All too often since Tony left, he’s found himself _waiting._

_“Learn what about them?”_

“Anything.” He sighs. “My art aint going so well. I like doing it, but I know it’s not good. I figured Stark and the Spider-boy like science, I might as well. I don’t think I do, but I might. Can’ really be sure of anything.”

FRIDAY considers this. Someone going out of their way to spend time with DUM-E? That’s not necessarily a _bad_ thing. Boss informed FRIDAY that no one was allowed to work in the lab without his permission. That’s not _working_ , that’s playing. Her little friends down in the lab she always feels so bad for. They are like little puppies–that is the comparison Peter makes–and need attention. James is a perfectly nice person, and Boss appears to like him as much as FRIDAY has come to.

Surely…he wont mind. And perhaps instead of allowing James into the lab, she may allow DUM-E to get out? _“I can let DUM-E out of the Lab so that he may come upstairs for you to spend time with.”_

He perks up. “Really? That’d be great. Thank you, FRIDAY.”

It takes a few minutes for the bots to fling themselves up into the elevator and to make their way out into the living room. They squeal with glee when they’re allowed into the main living area—a place they’re usually prohibited from entering because of their long history of breaking glass objects.

James observes them with muddled curiosity as they quickly roll towards him, greeting him with beeps that he doesn’t understand. What exactly is the…etiquette for these bots? Does he play with them like dogs or does he talk to them like people like he does with FRIDAY? What purpose do the bots serve, too? They aren’t very…knowledgeable, like FRIDAY. Do they hold things?

“Uh…Hi, DUM-E.” He says and the bot whirs in response.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor so that he is closer to their height, James reaches out to touch his new…friend. He is unsure how to interact with faceless robots. They are not like FRIDAY.

Does he call DUM-E a him? Can robots have gender. “FRIDAY,” he asks curiously, “I have a question, but I’m not sure if it’s rude.”

_You may ask, James.”_

“Are you a girl?”

_“I do not technically have a sex, but I was designed after a human female.”_

James nods. That makes sense. She sounds like a girl, so she is called a girl. DUM-E does not sound like a boy, yet he is called him? “Is DUM-E a boy? Stark called it a him.” He recalls vaguely thinking the same thing back when he’d first heard someone address the bot like a person as he is now, wondering if he should do the same.

_“DUM-E is called ‘him’.”_

DUM-E does not appear to be a person. Not like FRIDAY, who pretty much has a human consciousness—maybe even more advanced. DUM-E does not appear to be advanced. “Can he talk?”

_“No. This was one of boss’ very first things he designed. He has no speaking mechanism.”_

“How do I play with him? What does he want to do?” James asks her, staring into the corner of the room where he suspects the cameras are. When he’d first entered the mansion, he’d scanned for them. “Does he want to play…fetch?”

“DUM-E enjoys playing fetch, helping Boss with experiments, and getting pet.”

James laughs. “One of those is not like the other.” He mutters.

The only throwable object around the room is some sort of decorative ball in a vase on the coffee table. He picks it up carefully. It appears to be made from a kind of stiff cloth, so that it holds its shape but will not break if dropped.

James stares at the little bot, wiggling on its pole, and wonders is he has truly gone crazy, playing fetch with a robot. Then, he throws the ball.

With impressive speed the little bot retrieves it, having to duck underneath a counter to get it, seeming very pleased with the challenge. “It must get boring down there, with no one to play with.” He wonders aloud, not knowing whether it’s to FRIDAY, himself, or the robot who can’t reply.

Again and again he throws it, asking questions to FRIDAY as he goes.

Tony, stumbling out of the car in the driveway, enters the building tiredly, undoing his tie and taking off his jacket while he makes his way around to the living room which holds the stairway to his room. The meeting had been exhaustive—no, _worse_ —and all that he wants to do now is to go down to his Workshop and finish his project so that he can finally pass out on his favorite couch, beside his fire extinguisher on the West Wall of the Lab. 

James doesn’t see him coming, just continuing to throw the decoration around and watch with glee as the little robot responds happily to his attention. It’s been so long since someone’s been happy to see him. It almost brings tears to his eyes.

“So, can he feel like you can? He certainly seems to like playin’ fetch.” He comments to FRIDAY.

_“He can feel happiness and sadness, though his emotions are not as complex as mine.”_

James snorts. “Now you’re braggin’.”

 _“Yes, I am.”_ She says, unafraid to flaunt her extensive abilities. _“DUM-E is like a puppy. He requires care and love, but he cannot keep a whole Compound protected from International and Other-worldly threats.”_

“Brag.”

Tony steps into the room but stops short, surprised to find the villain of his life crouched on the ground playing with what are essentially his children. This is…interesting. _“Welcome back, Boss.”_ FRIDAY greets, sounding smug for a reason that the mechanic can’t place.

“Uh, hi.” He says, beginning to suspect that he may be so sleep deprived he’s imagining things. Is there an assassin sitting on his floor playing fetch with a bot? “What’re you doing?” He asks the sitting Soldier, trying not to enjoy the fact that for once he is taller.

“Playin’ with DUM-E. You really named him DUM-E?”

“Thought it was funny.”

James grins. “Not much ‘as changed, then. B.A.R.F. and Dummy…silly names…” He throws the ball once again. “I always wanted a puppy when I was a kid—that much I remember. Guess there’s one here now. Even if it’s a few decades late.”

The genuine smile on his face is perplexing. What on Earth did he walk in on? “FRI, how’d they get out of the Lab?”

_“James requested he be allowed into the Workshop to play with the bots. Because of regulations, I instead brought the bots to him.”_

Tony raises a brow. “Why’d you do that?”

_“They are my friends.”_

The mechanic tries not to wonder if FRIDAY’s ‘friends’ include James or not. His whole world is up-side down. “Uh, okay. Y’know what, I’m going down to the Lab. I’ll be up later.” He doesn’t bother to say goodbye to James before heading down the staircase, and doesn’t bother to feel hurt that DUM-E doesn’t follow.

* * *

About an hour or so later and Tony is done with the beginning schematics of his latest update for the MARK IV. He takes a break not because he wants to, but because he has to give the 3D model time to render. His programs are top-notch, but it still takes time every once in a while.

Popping open a can of soda, knowing that it’s weird and that he never drinks soda (they’re just kept down here for Peter), he leans back in his chair and cracks his back, wondering back to the scene he’d walked in on earlier with James and the bots. DUM-E and his little group had wandered back down about ten minutes ago, saying that James needed to rest.

Did FRIDAY mean to imply that she and James were _friends_? Last he’d checked, FRIDAY was still holding that grudge against him. Did she…did she let go of that so easily? Tony had been kind of flattered that FRIDAY cared enough to stay angry about that.

“FRI, are you and James _friends_?” The word is like a slug on his tongue—uncomfortable and foreign. Picturing James as anyone’s friend is hard. He is either like a child in his lack of understanding about what’s around him, or like a serial killer who had killed Tony’s parents.

_“James is more polite to me than any other human I have come across. Except, possibly, for Colonel Rhodes.”_

“He rivals _Rhodey_ in politeness?”

_“Yes. He has inquired many times about how I prefer to be treated—what is rude and what is not. While I do not forgive him for Siberia, I have come to understand that appears to be a good person.”_

Tony shakes his head. He hadn’t planned on getting to know James very well, just helping him out with B.A.R.F and then rehabilitating him. Never had he considered…spending time with him.

But maybe he should. Maybe if FRIDAY, who can hold a grudge like Tony has never seen before, can move forward, then he can too.

And yet…An image of Steve shaking strangers’ hands flits through his mind. James’ politeness must be a ‘40s thing, like how Steve is so sweet to strangers but manipulates his friends. No, he does not need to move forward. He’s just fine sitting where he is now.

* * *

Tony doesn’t come upstairs for another ten hours. His body has demanded--in the only way it knows how: by continuing to drag him down to the face of the Earth with each step he takes--that he go to bed, but for the _second_ time in one day, a strange sight greets him in the living room on the way up to his room.

The mechanic observes James with curiosity. In front of the perfectly good couch, James has chosen to sit on the floor so that the small coffee table reaches up to his chest, as a desk might if you lowered your chair. He looks terribly out of place, so undone and messy, hair up in a twisted knot, amid all this clean, pointed furniture. 

It’s so late that it’s technically morning, and yet James is not asleep? Despite knowing that he should just leave, Tony takes a quiet step towards James. Not sleeping is a sign that they shouldn’t be starting B.A.R.F.

“Is the desk in your room not working?” Oh, wait. That kind of sounded rude, like he doesn’t want James here. “I mean, not that you can’t be out here. You can; it’s just late. I figured you’d be in bed by now.” 

The emptiness in James’ chest overrides his need to be polite to the man, and he doesn’t turn to face the mechanic, looking out the window instead. “Couldn’ sleep.” He mumbles.

Tony nods, though the man won’t see the action. “I get that.” There was an awkward pause. “Anything I can do?”

“You’re already helping me with the Program.” Saying B.A.R.F out loud doesn’t seem right. Tony _does_ need to fix that stupid acronym. “’s all anyone can do.” A huge sigh escapes him, and he hopes that as it does, he might feel better once it’s all out. He doesn’t. “The city’s different.” James says, just a little louder. “’s all different.”

“Tends to happen.”

It’s as if James doesn’t hear him respond. “The light’s all different, y’know?” The Soldier continues. There’s a new buzz to the city that wasn’t there before--a technological buzz. Lights blare into the black sky and turn it blue, little glowing screens with thumbs covering them signify the people walking outside the building, and every single building is a skyscraper, tip penetrating the clouds. Light comes from every one of their windows. “There’s too much of it. During the day, ‘s like ‘s not sunlight that’s lighting up the place anymore.” James sighs. “I’m…I was so excited when we went to the Expo here. All the fancy new tech, gonna help us win the war. It was magic.” The Super-Soldier whispers. “Now, I’ve seen real magic. I don’t care for it.”

“Me neither.” A few moments of silence go by and Tony feels a growing obligation to respond to these ramblings of an old man. “Change is never easy.”

Is this some sort of breakdown, or is he just being emo? Tony can’t tell.

“Least I wasn’t Steve. Waking up, all the changes new. It’s not new for me. It’s been happening the whole time. The whole time… I was just too messed up to notice. I let it all slip away. I let them take my mind, and now I don’t know how to use a new oven. I…I don’t have an excuse. I was there the whole time for all this change. I…” Tears threaten to spill over his eyes, and he’s not familiar with the prickling sensation in his eyes. It’s uncomfortable. Why is it happening? “I _let_ everything get away from me. Chose murder over change.” _I killed my friend. I killed Howard._

Tony grimaces. This definitely isn’t right. Rambling. It’s rambling. Murder _was_ a change; and he didn’t _let_ anyone do anything to him. Tony’s still not sure how he should analyze the severity of this situation. Is James going to get up and start attacking people, or is he going to sit on the floor and cry? Tony doesn’t think he can handle either. 

“You didn’t _let_ things happen, you know.” The mechanic, says, moving to come and sit down next to James.

It’s a tentative movement—one Tony takes slowly, as to not disturb James. Then, they’re side by side, Tony looking at James and James looking down at the table, running his fingers over the smoothed-out grooves of the wood. He doesn’t like this—this _crying_. Why can’t it stop? 

“I could’ve fought.” James whispers, voice shaking. Then, stronger, “In the beginning, when I still had my mind. Why didn’t I fight? Why didn’t I kill them all? Why did I let this happen?”

Tony frowns, eyes opening wider. Nothing wakes a person up like panicking and wondering if they’re going to have a Super Assassin running around frantic any moment. “James, James.” He tries to get his _calm down, you’re safe_ voice out, “Listen to me—you did fight. You _did_ fight, you just don’t remember.”

“What?” James sniffs. This might be the first time he’s heard Stark say his new name.

“You were taken in 40’s. You didn’t go on your first mission until 68.” Tony looks into the man’s eyes, checking for any understanding, but there is none. “James, you fought for twenty years. You fought. You didn’t let this happen; this was not your choice.”

More tears fall down his cheek, but he doesn’t respond. Hesitantly, Tony reaches out and places a hand overtop of James’, squeezing to hold them steady. 

“But…But I don’t remember that.” The Soldier whispers.

“I know.” For a second Tony stares at him. “FRIDAY,” Maybe this will help, “will you pull up the dates from the files?” Maybe seeing it in front of him will make James feel better. A projection of the documents, half blacked out with ink, shows up on the TV. “Do you see? That’s twenty years of resistance. James, you are so strong. No one could fight for that long.”

It’s absolutely true. No single person in the world could’ve lived through this like James. No one could deal with it, but James was strong enough.

“I let them. I must’ve. I would’ve kept fighting." 

Tony sighs. “You did. You so did. Remember what you told Dr. Mackenzie? You ate that banana from the woman on the beach. You _chose_ to disobey—to fight back. That’s more than twenty years of fighting. It’s a lifetime.” James had re-lived the story to his Doctor during their second check-up.

A tear rolls down his face. “I don’t like it.” 

“I know.” He looks down at his feet. “I’m gonna help. You’re going to get your memories back. You’re gonna see that you fought. You did all that you could.”

James doesn’t believe it. He’s not sure he ever had. Leaving Wakanda—that was a rash decision. One forged from panic. He didn’t believe it would really help, but if it was staying like this forever or walking into his enemy’s arms with the chance of getting better, then he knew what he’d choose.

This…this _B.A.R.F,_ could it possibly take away the memories? Can it even be done? Tony says yes, and Tony appears to be telling the truth most of the time, but James doesn’t think that he’ll be able to get a happy ending. No, murderers do not deserve a Happily Ever After.

Besides, it seems like an alien concept, having his memories displayed for all to see. Impossible by far. He has no memories, after all. Will the screens just be blank? Is he too broken to fix? Even if the screens do display something—some memory—they’ll be showing _murder._ Death and destruction. He doesn’t want anyone to see that.

He sniffs. “You-You said that the memories would be on a screen. Will you see the screen?”

“I’ll be right there with you, don’t worry.”

He huffs and leans his head down, running his real hand over his face. “I don’t want you to see. What if you see…what if you see your parents?” His voice breaks. “I can’t—you can’t see that.” He says. “ _I_ can’t see that. No one can see it—it’s too _bad_.”

Tony swallows. “’ve already seen it.”

“No.” James shakes his head. “Seeing anything…it’s different. It’s different…” he struggles for the words. It’s trivial to describe such a thing as simply _bad_. “You’ll be seeing it from my point of view. All of it.” That empty crib. Where was the baby? “And that’s different. No one should be seeing that. It’s _worse_ that way.”

Another person wanting to protect Tony? What did he do to deserve this? What did he do to encourage this? This is about curing James, not keeping Tony safe. James _cannot_ go into this with his main intent being keeping other people away from his memories. They won’t be able to finish the Program if that happens.

And, exactly _why_ does James Barnes of all people feel protective over Tony? Is it because Tony is Tony and James wants to protect Tony, or is it everyone? Is it everyone that he wants to keep away from the Winter Soldier?

“I can handle myself.” Tony tells him. “I can handle myself; you just need to worry about you. You…You haven’t been allowed to take care of yourself in years. You need to start somewhere. This is it, okay? You let me turn on the machines and _you_ will let me help you.”

For about ten more minutes they stay like that, Tony’s hand over James’, sitting with their backs resting against the foot of the couch. Once the tears finally stop—James thought they never would—he opens his eyes and blinks away the urge to throw up. Anxiety. Yes, that is what this is.

James is beginning to recognize it.

The room is black except for the screen, lighting up beige with the yellowed documents from HYDRA. The light is almost yellow. Almost his favorite color. But it is coming from HYDRA files. It cannot be his favorite if it is from HYDRA. 

Wait, from HYDRA? Files from HYDRA? How did Stark manage to get files from HYDRA? The straightness of the Russian makes his brain fuzzy. Did _he_ steal the files from HYDRA, or did Stark?

“How did you get files like that?” He asks quietly, voice embarrassingly wet. At least, it would be embarrassing if he were socially aware enough to understand that crying can be awkward. He just knows it’s… uncomfortable. He feels so exposed, even though the room is dark and there is no one else but Tony around to see him.

He doesn’t want Tony to see him crying—to see him exposed. People do not like seeing others crying, and James wants Tony to like him. Why? He’s not sure. He just knows he wants it. Maybe it’s guilt—that empty white feeling. But that’s not what he feels when he looks at Tony. It’s more like…warmth. A sticky warmth in his stomach, making it harder to talk out loud. Making him nervous. Like Ms. Potts.

But he wants Ms. Potts to like him because she is pretty, probably. Is Tony Stark pretty? Can men be pretty?

Tony glances up at the screen, barely understanding what the Soldier’s referring to at this point. “Oh. We retrieved them from a HYDRA bunker.”

James sniffles. Of course, where else would they get them? But it’d be strange to raid a bunker and find only the dates of the Winter Soldier’s missions. “Did you get…other files?”

Tony furrows his brow. “Yeah.”

Tony’s mouth curves when he says it. James watches with a sort of depressed curiosity. If a man _can_ be pretty, then maybe Tony would be that. He has dark eyelashes and soft hair. But… he has facial hair. You can’t be pretty if your face is prickly, can you? And his.. he looks like _Howard._ Like blood. Like blood in the snow and blood on his beard. Metal and metallic blood, blood on the car. The car is ripped in half.

No, James cannot find Tony Stark to be pretty when he looks like Howard.

He sighs. Other documents from HYDRA. Do they have information of Tony’s parents on them? Did Tony have to see over and over again, in writing and video, how his parents died? Or, maybe the papers talk about the baby. The one who was gone from the crib. Those half-finished memories have been bothering James. Maybe if he knows what happened, he will be able to “work through it” on his own.

“Can I see them?”

Tony pauses. Letting James see the other files? That greatly increases the chance of James getting triggered, but Tony needs to gain his trust—he needs to prove that James is really free here. Freedom means the freedom to have access to information.

“The flies? Do you think that will help?” 

“I…I want to _know_.” He doesn’t say what he wants to know, but Tony obliges.

Tony’s voice is low, as if he wishes he weren’t requesting what he is. This is a gamble, but he will allow James to see them. “FRIDAY, pull up the folders from the HYDRA bunker.”

 _“Which HYDRA bunker?"_

“149.” The screen begins to glow blue, showing new files. Tony turns to James. “What do you want to see?” Their hands are still touching.

“I’m not sure.” James breathes. A few images flash through his head. Blood, blood on cars, blood in the snow, loud music in his ears, smoke hanging low in a bar, a pale blue wall covered in paintings of clouds and barrages of bullet holes. “I…A baby. There was a baby. In my memories. I think…I don’t know if I hurt it or if I hurt its parents, but the crib had a baby in it, and then the crib didn’t have a baby in it.” He says, shame washing over him. “I want to know.”

Tony pauses before deciding that he’ll let the man look into it. If James says it’ll help him, who is Tony to say that it won’t? “FRIDAY, scan the documents for anything involving kids.”

 _“Yes, Boss. Processing the information now. There are 189 files involving people under age 18.”_ Far too many, because they are most likely all victims.

The screen shines bright red, and then the teenage girl from Wakanda—the red-haired one—is up on the screen, hair burning bright, magic between her hands. James sniffs and Tony straightens his back, preparing to bring down the age requirement for the search. “She was with us. Did HYDRA hurt her too?” James asks. 

Tony frowns. “No. She was with HYDRA…This is an ASSET FILE.”

“Asset file?” _He_ was the Asset. “She was taken over too?”

All that the scientist can do is stare. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Steve did _not_ lie to James about her being HYDRA, did he? He…he wouldn’t. “No, it wasn’t like you.” Tony softly tells him. “She joined after her parents died. My, uh…well, it was one of my bombs that killed-“

James holds up a shaky hand, still holding onto Tony with the other. “She _joined_? What, like, willingly? You can do that?”

“Uh, yeah.”

That…no. The Soldier just stares back at the screen. What’s going on? “She-She couldn’t’ve been HYDRA. I would’ve known. She…she ate corn. She ate corn in front of me.” He recalls as if it’s the gospel truth. James doesn’t eat dinner with HYDRA.

Tony can’t quite put together what James is getting at. “Corn?” Is this some kind of trigger?

“She ate _dinner_ with me. She was…there. Casually. She was a part of the _team_ —she couldn’t’ve been HYDRA.” 

It takes a moment for Tony to respond. This is already not going well, and Tony’s been here before. It can take a minute to accept that you’ve been betrayed, but it isn’t a fun process. Tony doesn’t want James to go through that, and yet, he cannot _lie_ to him. 

“Well, she quit once she decided to join the others.”

“She _quit?_!”

“…Yes.”

James stands and lets go of Tony’s hands. The skin feels empty without it. Oh, what had he done? If Rhodey could see him now, following the angry, scared, and easily-triggered assassin around now, the man would surely beat the shit out of Tony. The mechanic rushes to try and do damage control. “Y’know, it’s not…She’s not here. You’re—there’s no one HYDRA here. You’re safe. I wouldn’t let anyone HYDRA or former HYDRA around-“

James holds up a hand, voice snapping, “Wh-How come you didn’t tell anyone she was HYDRA?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you have the files! Steve is there with her right now! Steve is with HYDRA?” His eyes become glassy.

This is the very first time that James has _ever_ appeared to be _angry_ with anyone. Genuinely, truly angry. Frankly, it’s terrifying. His eyes are dark and his arm seems to just get a little more muscular. If this was any other situation, Tony might take a minute to enjoy the view, but he has more pressing matters.

No, Steve is not in danger; Steve _is_ the danger. James has to know that, but how can anyone tell him that? Didn’t Steve save his life? Won’t James never accept that his best friend could do something like this to him? “No, no. Listen, we’ve had these files for years. Steve knows she’s HYDRA. He trusts her, so,” and Tony doesn’t believe this, but he says it anyway, “Steve is safe with her.”

“He…” James’ eyes lose their glazed-over look, and just become confused. “He knows? He… _knows_ that she’s HYDRA?” Saying it out loud doesn’t do much to help him understand it. The words are boxy and wrong. They don’t make sense.

“Yes.” Tony lets out a breath of relief. Now James gets it. Steve knows she’s HYDRA, so Steve isn’t in danger. “It’s okay.”

“But…” James just stares at the other man. “It’s not okay. It’s…if that’s true, then he didn’t tell me. He…he didn’t tell me that when I was eating dinner with her.” Those blue eyes are settled on Tony’s, as if waiting for him to give some clue as to what’s really going on. “He…He couldn’t’ve known.”

“I…” I what? What can he do? What can he say? There’s nothing to say! Nothing anyone can say can undo this, and Tony knows it better than anyone. “I’m so sorry, James. I thought you would’ve known…You were fighting with her.” He whispers.

Gradually becoming frantic, James begins to pace back and forth, metal hand on his chin. “No! No, I don’t fight with HYDRA. She’s not HYDRA.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Tony says, quietly sitting down. Maybe if he stays where he is, then James will feel some instinctual need to follow suit instead of going and smashing a bottle over someone’s head. “I’m sorry that you didn’t know. I would’ve said something if I’d known you didn’t.” How familiar this feels, Cap keeping information from his _friends._

“I…He’s my friend. My _best_ friend. He…He would’ve told me.” It’s just a whisper. 

There is nothing Tony can say. Slowly, he gets to his feet and sets a hand on James’ shoulder. “I…I’m so sorry.”

**_ LETTERS TO STEVE – TO BE SENT AT THE END OF THE MONTH _ **

**_September 15_ **

_I went to a doctor and didn’t have a flashback. Not today, but a few days ago. That was good. Actually maybe I did have a flashback, but it wasn’t a bad one. It was a good one of a pretty girl who thought I was homeless because I was so dirty. Writing that now, I can see how that might not seem like a good memory but it was._

_The doctor is nice and she doesn’t scare me. She asks before she touches me just like the Doctors on Wakanda and she is pretty. I think that helps. If she were ugly she might remind me of HYDRA. Everyone at HYDRA was ugly looking._

_Ms. Potts is pretty too. I think you knew her._

_I want to change for the better because I want to be better than I was with HYDRA._

_I don’t want to hurt people when I am angry anymore. Except for HYDRA. I think I will always want to hurt HYDRA. That I will tell Tony. I’m not sure if I want it to go away though._

_I am angry with you but I don’t want to hurt you. I am angry with you because FRIDAY is my friend and I know that because she tells me the truth. Friends tell the truth. But I saw files with the orange haired girl on them and the files said that she was HYDRA._

_That can’t be possible though. She is not HYDRA because you would not let me be near someone from HYDRA because you are my friend. You did not tell me she was HYDRA and HYDRA hurt me. I ate food across from her at that big table. She is from HYDRA and I ate food across from her willingly. I would not have done that if I had known that she was from HYDRA. Because you did not tell me she was HYDRA, I could not make that choice. That’s what HYDRA was like._

_So I want you to tell me that the file was wrong. Please. I will believe you if you tell me that because I think that we are friends. Friends tell the truth._

_Please tell me that the file is wrong._

**-James**


	5. Real Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B.A.R.F explanations, baths with James, talk about his arm, letters to steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY IMPORTANT NOTE
> 
> I'm so sorry yall. I posted what was actually chapter 5 saying it was chapter 4! So here is the real chapter 4, and I'm changing the title of the last one so that it's right. I'm so sorry about the confusion!
> 
> The author's note was going to be:
> 
> " I love me some #character development "

James doesn’t want to risk an attack by letting a barber near his neck with a pair of scissors, but he also needs to cut his hair. HYDRA kept it long, so he, James, will keep it short. That’s just how it has to work. He is new; he needs a new haircut. He is escaping HYDRA, so he’ll cut his hair just like the woman escaping her husband.

“Okay…” He mutters, looking down at the mug of water in front of him.

He’s been staring at it for too long. It’s entirely possible that someone will walk into the communal kitchen here and see him acting so strangely, but he can’t help but to just look. The mug has a print on it of the Captain America Shield. For some reason, it’s captivating.

Is this how people see Steve, now? A cartoon, three-colored circle carrier? This is the same shield which had cut through bone—been covered in blood. Now here it is, in the home of the man who it’d destroyed, in cartoon from.

It seems…wrong.

When had his association of Steve’s shield become negative?

He tentatively adds to his list.

 _James:_

  * _Want Virginia to like me – why?_
  * _Interests - ?_
  * _Cut hair? - short_
  * _Only yellow paint_
  * _Want Stark to like me_
  * _How to choose food?_
  * _How to choose?_
  * _Choose to forgive?_
  * _Blood on shield?_



“FRIDAY, do you know where scissors are? I’m going to cut my hair.” That’s what the woman in the movie did when she was running away. That’s what he should do. Short hair means freedom and freedom is good. He fought the war for freedom, he fought HYDRA for freedom. He should want freedom, even if it means having to choose for himself.

He’s choosing short hair, so he can choose other things. He can do this.

“I’m choosing to cut my hair myself. Choosing.” A true smile sits on his face.

  * _Freedom is being able to choose_
  * _I want freedom, I want to be able to choose_
  * _Choose short hair_



_“What style haircut would you like?”_

“…Short.”

_“There are many short hairstyles. Would you like me to show you a list of what hairstyles are like in the twenty-first century?”_

“Okay.” Oh, no. This isn’t good.

On the screen above the fridge is a list of pictures and some text below them, each showing a similar-looking haircut. Choosing. He can do this. “Can you…help me choose? Just help, though? I can choose on my own, I just don’t know where to start.” He says stubbornly, like a child who won’t admit that he’s not sure how to work a new toy.

It takes a moment for the AI to respond. _“I have analyzed the face-shape and body types of the Men’s Handsomest Magazine to find which people match you best physically. There are three which have the same build and face shape as you. Would you like to see them?”_

“Yes, please.”

Three new pictures pop up. They all look the same to him now. All the same. He can do this, though. This is fine. If they all look similar, then it won’t matter which one he chooses. It’s not a big deal.

Anxiety curling up on the edges of his consciousness, he taps the middle one before he can think. “That one. Wait.” He immediately curls in on himself. He can’t just choose that casually! This is his hair. “No, no. Do it. Choose that one. I’m done choosing—it’s that one. That one.”

He takes a deep, deep breath, reminding himself that he _can_ breathe, it just feels like he can’t. It’s just like T’Challa said. Back when he was leaning over onto the man, tall grass making his cheek itch. _You’re better, you’re better._

“Do you know where scissors are?”

If the AI was capable of cringing, she would. _“This haircut requires more tools than scissors, and it was done in Milan by professionals. I can schedule an appointment with a hairstylist if you would like.”_ She says. _“There are many capable hair stylists who would be willing to make home-appointments for Boss.”_

“I don’t think I’d want a stranger cutting around my neck. I can do it myself.”

FRIDAY frowns internally. _“You do not have Level 3 Clearance—the clearance to access weapons in the Compound. I am afraid that_ Professional Classic Smooth Suave Man Razors TM _may fall under that category, and that is a tool listed as necessary to complete the hairstyle. Unless you would like to choose another style?”_

“No, no. God, no. No more choosing.” He sighs. Of course, he can’t access razors. They’re worried he’ll go on a murder spree at any moment, and given his history, it’s not an unreasonable fear. “That’s okay, FRIDAY. I’ll figure something out.”

_“Would you like me to call Boss? Perhaps he can be of service. He said he wanted to make sure that you were comfortable, and you seem to have become anxious at the topic.”_

* * *

Down in the shop, Tony works on his latest project while waiting for Peter to show up. “FRIDAY, what’s Barnes doing right now? Is he available?” Tony asks, scanning over the plans for the first stage of his plan.

Because of meetings he hasn’t seen the Soldier in three days, and he hopes that the man has been settling in and taking care of himself. By now, James must be relaxed enough for them to start, right?

The AI chirps, _“James is in the bathtub. Would you like me to ask him if he is available to join you in the Lab?”_

The mechanic grimaces. “Uh, no. ‘ll just let him do that. It’s about time he gets clean.” He mutters. “You’re calling him James?”

_“He and I are on amicable terms.”_

Eventually, Peter does show up. He’s covered in raindrops, still in his school clothes, stumbling in through the door trying not to slip over the floors. “Sorry I’m late, Mr. Stark.” He pants, dropping his bag next to the workbench and looking at the plans in front of him. “What are we working on?”

“New blasters for the suit.” Tony says. “What took you so long getting here?”

Well, there’s no way that Peter’s about to open up to his super-cool mentor about how Flash had everyone blocking the hallway because they were too busy laughing along with the bully’s shitty jokes at Peter’s expense. So, he gives some basic response he won’t remember giving later, and immediately jumps into the new machines which will go into the palms of Iron Man’s hands.

An hour or so later, Tony asks FRIDAY again about his guest, and receives the same response. “He’s still in the bathtub? Did he fall asleep?” Is he doing something _else_? Maybe he shouldn’t’ve asked. Especially not with Peter here, dear God. The kid’s so awkward, it’s painful.

 _“He is conscious and safe. He and I are having a conversation.”_ FRIDAY informs him.

“Oh. What about?” The question comes out before he can stop himself and he immediately wishes he hadn’t said anything.

_“Siberia. He wanted to know if it was possible for me to dislike him because of past events, just as Ms. Potts did.”_

Hearing that Pepper was cold to Barnes certainly surprises Tony, but FRIDAY doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with it. The put-together, mature and sensible Pepper Potts had the nerve to outwardly hold a grudge over an assassin? To the assassin’s face? She just gets more and more impressive.

And even more unusual is the fact that Barnes—socially isolated Barnes—understood this and then asked FRIDAY if she also felt the same! What on Earth kind of relationship have _they_ been creating?

“What did you tell him?” Tony asks, chronically curious.

_“I told him that I understand his psychological limitations while under HYDRA’s influence, but that I do not forgive him for Siberia.”_

Tony clicks his tongue. “I’m over that, you know.” A lie.

 _“I am not.”_ She replies all too easily. Since when had she developed this biting resentment? She truly is his little girl. _“Also, I told him that if he were Mr. Rogers, I would not have let him in the Compound.”_

At this, he can’t help but to smile. “Thatta girl.”

They work for a few hours, until it’s just threatening to get dark. Down in the labs, neither one of the men notice the time passing, but their stomachs do. After a particularly loud growl of Peter’s stomach, dinner is decided on.

“We have this leftover stuff Rhodey made. I’m tired to ordered in food, so let’s have that.” Tony says.

He’s been avoiding the kitchen for fear of finding the Super Soldier there, but that can last no more. He _has_ to start working with the man and he _has_ to get used to him being around. Especially if it’s getting in the way of accessing Rhodey’s food. Tony _does not_ fuck around over Rhodey’s cooking—he goes after it like a wild animal and the fact that he’s even been able to stay away for more than forty hours is a miracle in itself.

Peter bounds up the stairs, eager for something to put in his stomach, and Tony follows behind.

“You know, I still don’t think that you should let him be here.” The teenager chirps, knowing that it’s a useless comment but still feeling the need to make it. Tony figures that applies to most of the things Peter says, anyway. “And you can try all you want to make me be able to stand him or whatever, but I won’t. Like, yeah, his arm is cool, but murder is _uncool_.”

Tony rolls his eyes. Immature, insensitive kid. Maybe he wasn’t referring to the murder of Tony’s parents directly, but he may as well have been. “Fine; you don’t need to be friends with him, you just need to be civil with him. Think you can do that?”

The third staircase passes by and they’re finally on the same floor as the kitchen. “No.” Peter complains and his mentor shoots him a glare. “ _Fine_. I’ll be nice to him but that’s it. He shouldn’t be allowed here.”

“Duly noted.”

“What happens if he goes crazy and tries to kill everyone?”

Tony isn’t one to sugarcoat things for Peter. “That may happen, which is why FRIDAY and every single security person and measure in the building know what to look out for. You’re rarely be near him—you’re only here on weekends, normally—so you’ll be fine. Alright?”

The finality in Tony’s voice stops Peter from sassily replying that _No, everything is not alright._

Together they stroll through the halls, Peter passionately complaining about the situation and Tony making exactly the bare minimum number of comments for the exchange to qualify as a conversation.

In the kitchen, James once again makes for quite a strange sight: a super soldier assassin with his hair pulled back in a bun as he drinks from a Hulk mug, putting the Captain America one—who kept that around?—back into the cabinet.

Peter freezes in the entrance, but Tony doesn’t allow himself to falter, instead going straight for the fridge, just as he would’ve if the man weren’t even there. He’s not going to let the presence of someone he’s secretly terrified of keep him from carrying on as if everything is normal.

“’Afternoon, James.” He greets the man, attempting to keep his voice friendly. “You just settling in for dinner?”

The Super Soldier doesn’t seem to get the memo of acting like everything is normal and fine and they’re casual friends. “Just getting some water.” He says rather timidly, making Tony want to look away. “I’m just headed back to the Art Room after this. ‘M gonna finish my painting.”

Painting? Peter narrows his eyes. _This_ is not the man he remembers from the airport. There are no army boots, but rather a pair of gray socks, and this Winter Soldier is not running at them full force, intent on killing, but staring at them from under thick eyelashes, looking as if he might flee at any moment. This is suspicious. This is an act.

“You’re painting?” Peter asks and Tony bites his lip, all too familiar with that sassy tone. This is a stupid teenager ready to pick a passive aggressive fight.

James regards Peter with a sort of gentle curiosity, looking him up and down. “You are the boy who hangs from the ceilings by his toes. The Spider kid.”

“Spider- _Man_.” The teenager corrects.

“I remember you. Ms. Potts said I shouldn’t be surprised if there is a boy sticking to a wall somewhere. I thought it was some sort of strange joke I didn’t get, but I guess she meant it literally.”

Peter sours at being called a _boy_. Hadn’t he just said he was a _man_? Taking this as a sign of battle in a passive aggressive argument, he only goes further. “I don’t just stick to walls. I have super strength and heightened senses. What do you have, an arm that someone _else_ made?” He bites.

There is absolutely no understanding of this tone in James’ head. “Yes.”

Peter frowns. Why is this guy such an idiot? Can he even tell when he’s being insulted? He turns to Tony. “Should we eat lunch down in the lab?”

The mechanic scoffs, long since having drowned out the stupid pettiness coming from the teenager. “Rhodey’s goulash is not to be eaten _hastily_ in the lab. It is to be _savored_ , and eaten in real bowls, not paper bowls.” He reaches into the cupboard and gets said dishes, organizing the meal while the food reheats in the microwave.

Glass dishes, check. Heating food, check. Stupid kid here and safe, check. Super Soldier too close behind him, check. Everything’s average. Now what?

“James,” he says before the silence can stretch on too long, “have you been able to get comfortable today? I’m glad you like the Art Room. It’s rarely ever used because everyone here is pretty much a nerd.”

The Art Room is so calming. It’s unfamiliar and new and full of things that James has no idea how to use, and yet he feels at home there. “Oh, it’s real nice. My favorite Room so far. Besides my bedroom.”

A smile looks kind of unusual on James’ face. “Is there anything you need?” Tony asks.

“Well, I’ve been trying to figure a situation about a haircut. Not sure if that counts as something I really _need_ , though.” If the other Soldiers could hear him now, griping about how he doesn’t like his hair in his face, all long like a girl, they’d make sure he never forgot about it. “’M not allowed anythin’ sharp and I doubt it’d be the smartest thing to let a stranger near m’ neck with scissors. Not really into that…”

Tony’s taken aback. This is the closest thing to a joke that’s come from the man since they’d met. It’s an odd sort of self-deprecating attempt at making something humorous from a deadly topic, but it’s a joke nonetheless. Tony laughs despite himself.

“Well, when you think you’re ready we can set you up with a barber.” He says easily. The microwave beeps and out comes their meal. While they sit down to dig in, James eyes them with something indiscernible in his eye. “Have you had dinner yet?” 

James shakes his head and avoids the other man’s eye. He’s well aware that it’s strange he can’t decide what to have.

Tony tries not to let his concern show through. It’s not concern, really. More like wariness. James is watching them rather intently—like he’s hungry—but he hasn’t eaten yet? “Oh. Well, if you don’t want to order anything, we have some leftover mac ‘n cheese in the fridge. You can have it.” 

It takes a moment to process that. Macaroni and cheese. If… if Tony is offering, and that’s the one thing in the fridge that James knows he is allowed to eat, then it’s like that is his only option. His only choice. And macaroni isn’t bad, probably. He associates it with an average sort of meal. No, this isn’t a bad lack of choice. This is good. He doesn’t have to choose. That’s good. Good.

Realizing that he’s been quiet too long, he offers a smile and a nod. “I would like that.” _I think. I can’t remember if I like Macaroni._

For the first time he opens up the fridge, and all that he can do is stare. Mostly it’s empty, with just a few bottles of sauces and cans of soda on the shelves. There is a plastic tub of squished yellow noodles in front of him.

He’s not entirely sure what to do once it’s in his hands.

Tony and Peter continue on like nothing’s happened. “We have to finish the left side of it after dinner. I’m not sure if we’ll get it done before you have to go home.”

The Spider’s ears perk up. “I could just spend the night. I could ask May.”

“Sure.” Tony’s instincts tell him to never let his eyes off the man—to stare him down and force him out of the place. So, determined to keep things nice and normal, Tony does the opposite. He avoids making eye-contact with James like it’ll kill him if he can’t.

James doesn’t take it personally.

It takes minutes for Tony to notice that his guest hasn’t made a move towards the microwave. What’s wrong with this guy? Is he going to try to eat it cold, or something? Tony will _have_ to leave the kitchen if the Soldier tries to do that; he won’t be able to watch. 

“You, uh,” he lifts his head slightly to look at James, “you gonna microwave that?”

“I don’t know how to do.” James says and Tony immediately decides to respond to that with a joke about how old he is, how they didn’t have microwaves back then. Before he can, the joking mood is immediately turned. “If I got food from my Handler it wouldn’t be hot—he’d just bring me a bar.” _If._

Desperate to not feel bad for the man, Peter inquires, “…A candy bar?”

The Super Soldier shrugs. “It was brown. It didn’t really taste like much.”

Tony grimaces. Probably some weird genetically engineered protein bar. Damn it. “Here,” he announces, getting to his feet unceremoniously, “I’ll show you how to work the microwave. It’s easy.”

In front of James, Tony goes into a simple explanation as to how to press the buttons and which ones to use. “This should go in for about thirty seconds. Then you can take it out, stir it, and put it back in for another thirty. _Don’t put any metal in it.”_

James frowns. “Can I touch it with my arm? My arm’s metal.”

“Metal can touch the outside, but the microwave can’t be turned on with metal inside it. That’ll start a fire.”

“Okay.”

He carefully follows each instruction, feeling as if correctly microwaving this macaroni will have a large impact on his life. Directions are orders. Orders are orders, and he is good at following orders.

When he pulls the pasta out of the microwave, he turns to Tony, staring at him for too long.

“Uh, good job. You did it.” Tony praises uncomfortably. Clearly, this satisfies the Soldier’s need for validation, as he moves to bring his tub to the counter. “Careful touching that. It’s gonna be hot-“ James’ metal hand is fully on the searing hot bottom of the container, because James had put it in for longer than he needed to and Tony didn’t want to crush his spirits and tell him so. “Can you feel that? On your hand?”

“The heat? No. My arm doesn’ feel like much. Jus’ heavy.” James doesn’t even have to think about the response. His arm isn’t really an arm. It’s just a hunk of metal coming from his shoulder.

Tony quirks an eyebrow and Peter watches his mentor intently. What’s going on in the man’s mind? This is his wondering face.

“So, no nerves…” Tony thinks aloud. “Maybe sometime I could take a look at your arm, figure out how it works. I could get you a better one—that’s sort of a…crude piece of machinery there.” James stares at him, confused, and Tony laughs to cover the unusualness of his gaze. “Anyone who stays at the Compound is usually subjected to my mechanic curiosity. I make the machinery, y’know?" 

“Did you make Clint’s arrows? The ones he burnt?” He asks.

“He _burnt_ his arrows?”

Oops. Bucky awkwardly squirms for a moment, taking a bite of his noodles to give him an excuse not to respond. Is it… bad to tell Tony that? Is it mean? Clint had burnt the arrows because he said he wished he could burn Stark instead. That can’t be a nice thing to tell someone about, even if Bucky wasn’t participating.

“Uh, he burnt an arrow he had left. He didn’t have ‘is bow, just the arrow.”

“Why’d he burn it?” Tony asked, fearing that he already knew the answer. Anxiety curled around the mechanic’s chest. He hates conflict, he hates conflict. Did Clint really… burn his arrows? _Really?_ Is that the impression that James have of him—someone awful enough to burn the arrows he made?

Beyond uncomfortable with the situation, James shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know Clint well. He’s sort of…mean. Vengeful. Like HYDRA. Kind of.” His voice trails off as he says it. Clint like HYDRA? Steve would not like it if he heard that. 

Steve is not here. 

Tony grunts. “I guess he is.”

* * *

The park hasn’t changed, at least. The wind still whistles through the trees and the blackness of the skies is still blocked by the leaves. James has settles himself onto a bench, still as hard and uncomfortable as it’s always been. Something about it is satisfying.

Trying to get everything medically and emotionally settled—with all the tests and the numbers—has taken up a surprisingly large amount of James’ time. In the whole time he’s been here it’s been doctors’ appointments, Tony looking at his arm, and trying to find ways he can separate himself from HYDRA, and he hasn’t been able to leave the Compound to go get some time for himself. So, he wanted to go to the park so that he could get some writing and some thinking done in the real light of day, but the actual process of getting to the park had turned out to be a mess.

In the terms of him being allowed to come home, he had to have an _escort_ here. That meant going into the first floor of the Compound where there is a set of offices for SHIELD agents. He had to _meet_ new people and try to socialize for a few minutes with the receptionist while he waited for the main Agent to come back and assign him someone to follow him to the park.

Now, the two Agents who were assigned to him—Agent Brock and Agent Copeland—sit a hundred yards away, pretending not to be there. James tries to do his best to ignore them.

In his lap is a notebook with a pale yellow cover which FRIDAY had ordered for him. In it, he doesn’t have much written down. His lists have mostly been ripped out, except for the one that he updates least frequently. 

What Hasn’t Changed

  * Starks are sceiencey
  * The city smells bad
  * Central park is Central park
  * Benches are hard



Now, to write what he came here to.

He’d been feeling guilty for a while about leaving Steve so abruptly. It’s about time that he gets news back to Wakanda so that the Captain can stop worrying. In his sloppy handwriting, he scrawls out at the top:

* * *

**_ LETTERS TO STEVE – TO BE SENT AT THE END OF THE MONTH _ **

_I’m no good at writing because it’s been so long, but I’m even worse at using technology so I’m going to try my best writing._

_I am doing better. I did not think that it would happen so soon that I would be getting better, but it really is. We’ve not yet started the BARF program yet and I’m doing better._

There are plenty of things to write about, but talking about Tony will just make Steve uncomfortable, and when James gets a letter back the last thing that he wants to have to read about are those strange, contradictory things that all the Ex-Avengers said about Stark. They only serve to confuse him.

_Some new things have happened. I ate macaroni and I think that I liked it. I made a painting. I am not sure what it is of, but I think that it is nice. It’s now in my room. I have a real bed. It’s soft and I sleep much more than I did with HYDRA. There are these little balls of powder, like giants bullets, and they turn the bathwater blue. I know that I liked those._

_I decided to start going by James because I am away from HYDRA and I am not going to be Asset. And I am not sure who Bucky is. I hope this doesn’t make you sad because I’m no good at making you not be sad._

_I was supposed to help you be happy at the dinner before I left, but I couldn’t stay sitting there. Choices are hard. I can’t explain why, but they are. It was hard to breathe when I had to make a choice about the juice. I told FRIDAY about it here and she said I had an Anxiety Attack. I don’t know what it is but I don’t like it._

_FRIDAY is this robot in the ceiling but she is a person like me. She is nice and she is honest about not liking me completely because of Siberia. It is nice to have someone be honest about it, even if they don’t like me._

_I’m going to go talk about the Program later with Tony._

James hopes that Steve won’t get all pissy if he mentions him.

_He hasn’t told me a whole lot about it yet because he and Dr. Mackenzie said that I had to get settled in to this place. That means taking fancy baths and eating macaroni I guess, because Tony thinks that I’m ready. I’ll write more about it later, but for now I have to stop writing. The Agents are staring at me (I’m in the park and they’re required to make sure I don’t go crazy) and I have an appointment in a half hour._

* * *

The Workshop is a private place for Tony. Bruce, Pepper, Rhodey and Peter have been the only people to stay down there with him, and Peter knows this, so when he and Tony trail their way down to the Lab with James behind him, the boy is fuming.

The fact that Peter’s allowed down here is what makes him feel so special, most of the time. He gets to be here with Mr. Stark because he’s worked hard—he’s earned it! Now this guy just comes out of nowhere after _murdering_ the man’s parents, and he gets to march on over? What the hell?!

“…the program is called _what?_ ” James asks.

Tony chuckles. “I know. ‘Ve gotta work on changing the acronym, but I kind of think it’s funny.”

Tony flips a couple switches on the wall of this new room called the Lab. James can’t help but to stare when a vast, concrete room filled wall-to-wall with shiny technology is revealed to him. Parts of jets and planes are piled up on desks and Iron Man suits line each wall. FRIDAY’s voice filters through as she introduces James to the Workshop, or Lab.

He never gets the chance to say how cool it is because Peter, who James is beginning to think is a little strange, pipes up: “It stands for Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing,” matter-of-factly.

Is this how kids are? Stubborn and sort of angry all of the time? When James was growing up… Well, he’s not sure how it was. He can remember certain things like the attitudes he had in the war and the outlook he had on life:. But he can’t remember real _memories_ from when he was younger. Not really.

Maybe he was like this, too. Stating the obvious over and over again but seeming angry when people don’t react to things they already know. Of course, James has a metal arm. Of course, B.A.R.F stands for something crazy and science-y.

“How does the B.A.R.F work?” Does it have needles, he wonders. Will he have an… what did Dr. Mackenzie say it was? A panic attack—anxiety attack? Will he have one of those from this vomit program?

Seeming pleased that he’s been asked this, Tony gives a grin. “By connecting to your hippocampus, it allows you to essentially re-live traumatic memories and clear them.”

For the next half hour or so, Tony goes through the whole process bit by bit, explaining each and every little detail of it. James doesn’t understand all the aspects of it because he’s nowhere near the level of either of the other men when it comes to knowing the brain, but knowing the gist of it makes him feel better. For the first time in decades, he will know what is happening to his body and to his mind.

Tony shows him around the shop after that, introducing him to several little pieces of machinery which continue to fascinate James. And even more than the mystifying way in which the bots display _personality_ is the way that Tony returns their love with pats on the metal bar, similar to a parent and child.

The afternoon flies by quickly, filled with playing with the bots, going over in more detail the B.A.R.F plans, and talking about anything that comes to mind. It’s relaxing, almost. It feels like it did when James last had _friends._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the confusion you guys! This is being fixed as of January 27, 2019.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James never learned much about history, arm stuff, and shirtlessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't my most concise writing, but it does the trick i think.

James breathes in, 1 2 3 4 5, and exhales slowly. Dr. Mendoza, his therapist who he had seen once, said it might help when he feels anxious. He’s not sure that it does, but is’ better to have something to at least try.

Two days since his conversation with Tony, and one day since he went to his first therapy session (which was mostly her getting to know James), he is sitting in a cushy couch chair, little metal bits attached to his head with tape, allowing the resident scientist to run some final test on him before they start.

“My test boring you?” Tony jokes in reference to James’ dramatic sighs.

The Soldier smiles despite himself. “The day that I’m bored rather than scared by your tests is the day that I’m cured.”

“Hopefully, we’ll get to that.”

James hasn’t said anything in regards to their late night a couple days ago. No mentions of feeling betrayed or not wanting Tony to see his memories. The mechanic can only hope that this somehow is evidence of a miracle, that James is one hundred percent find. He’s not going to bet on it, though.

“So,” Tony says promptly, “all your tests are done. You need a little more Vitamin D, I’d guess, but other than that and the usual, nothing looks too extreme.”

An eyebrow is raised his way. “The usual?”

“Yes. We’re having the same issues with you as we usually have with Super-Soldier knockoff patients.” James tries not to be offended at being called a _knockoff_. “If we’re operating under the assumption that HYDRA was successful in their engineering of the Super-Soldier Serum, then we’ll compare your levels with Steve’s. Compared to him, your serotonin levels are lower and you need more protein and potassium in your body. But, most likely they weren’t successful—not completely—so, we don’t have anything to compare your levels to. That’s why we’re going to have to take tests frequently, so we can compare your tests to other tests of yours.” Tony finishes.

James frowns at the mention of Steve. Steve, who lied to him, Steve who used to be so small and fierce, who lied to Tony to keep James safe. Steve, who James is _furious_ with for the very first time. He tries to shake the thought. “How often will we have to do the tests?” He’ll do more tests if it means keeping anything and everything Steve-related away from him.

“Once a month, I’d say.” Tony says simply. “That sound okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘s fine.” He doesn’t look at Tony, instead staring down into his lap and waiting for the screen to light up beside him, the signal of the end of tests.

The mechanic frowns. “You…uh…talk to Steve yet?” He watches the other man’s expression nervously, checking for any sign that Tony shouldn’t’ve asked about it at all. Based on the mix of frustration and sadness on James’ face, Tony would guess that the topic would have come up anyway.

“No.” James bites his lip. “I write letters to him, but it’s expensive to send ‘em all the way to...him. So, I’m sending them all at the end of the month.” Silence extends for a moment, hanging out in the open like a cloud thick enough to feel. “I’m…mad at him.”

He doesn’t bother to explain that he knows the others are in Wakanda. It might get back to the others, then, and it’s only fair to keep information from them. Wait, that’s petty. But James has already got this look on his face suggesting that he wants to continue speaking of his complicated feelings. “That’s understandable.” Tony has been there himself.

“I…I know it’s not the first time he’s lied to a friend about that.” James whispers, looking down into his lap. He is ashamed of Siberia, he has decided that. “I…I’ve been trying to figure it out. I…It seems, from an outside point of view—I asked FRIDAY—that I just went along with him in Siberia…because I wanted to stay safe. Because I was selfish. He was the only one I knew who wanted me to be safe. But I’ve been…I’ve been thinking and-and…He didn’t give me a choice as to what to do.”

Tears prickle at his eyes, and frustration build in his chest. Damn _body_. “I…I am _fine_ with facing what I’ve done—facing my mistakes. When I _did_ have a choice as to what to do, I chose to come here, knowing that you might just be waiting for me at the airstrip, ready to kill me.” He says, gesturing to a tense-looking Tony. “That was _my_ choice. _Steve_ decided _for me_ that I would lie and hide like a coward instead of facing my sins.” His breath is shaky. “I know what I did. Who was he to decide?”

A tear finally falls. James bows his head, ashamed, and Tony just watches, words stuck in his throat. James continues, “And…is this just something he _does_? Lying to people just because? That HYDRA girl is not his friend like I am. Or, like I’m _supposed_ to be. And yet he kept her sins a secret. From _me_. If I’m worth fighting a team of his friends, if I’m worth fighting the goddamn government, then why am I not worth just…telling the truth?”

Tony had considered this the night after James’ and his conversation. It was always Steve’s excuse that ‘it’s Bucky, my best friend’. But that didn’t mean anything to him either, did it? He’ll betray anyone if he can convince himself that it’s right.

James sniffs loudly. “I’m beyond angry at him. Don’t even know a word that describes it.” He whispers. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“I…” Would it help for Tony to open up to the man about his own experiences, or would it just take the attention away from James, who is the real victim? Tony might seem self-centered if he tries to relate to his own experiences. “I’m not sure if it’d help to hear about how I dealt with it.”

Another sniff. “Well, I got no other role models.” He breathes out obnoxiously, in a way that Tony can only assume was meant to be a sad sort of laugh.

“Okay.” The mechanic says carefully. “Well, for starters, our circumstances are different. I don’t really know what you’ve been through–not really–but I was held hostage in Afghanistan. That’s the closest thing I have to compare. There, they, well,” he doesn’t want to say _torture_ because he’s not sure that being crude will help James, “hurt me so that I would make weapons for them. After I escaped, I really struggled to get close to people. I felt like they didn’t understand. And when I was finally able to heal, Steve went and broke that trust.”

Is he spiraling? Recalling the events rather than just offering advice, as he should be, but is in very few ways fit to be giving? He tries to refocus his brain. _What did I learn from this? How did I choose to move on with my life, how did I learn to heal better, like James needs to?_

“My choices, then, were to completely shut down and keep the world out, like I’d done after Afghanistan ‘cause I’d lost my family, or to go and build a new family, to _learn_ how to build better relationships with my family.” He looks into James’ eyes and sees nothing but tears and a quiet sort of understanding. “I learned to see who was really there for me and who wasn’t. That can be hard. People shouldn’t _have_ to do that because everyone should be there for people who’re supposed to be their friends, but it’s what I had to do. It’s what I did.”

A sniffle comes from James, the only sound he’s made in the last minute. “How did you learn who’s good and who’s bad? And…who _is_ good and who’s bad?”

“Well,” Tony tells him, “I started with therapy. I really committed to it. You’re already there, so you’ve already got that step down. Then, I created a safe environment out of what I had. I kept those who were toxic out and had only the trustworthy people stay. The people who are good, the trustworthy people, well, they’re not like Steve. Steve insisted that he knew everything about me that he needed to. He never tried to understand me. The people around me who I can trust are the ones who admit that they don’t get what I’ve gone through, so they don’t judge me for it. They _try_ to understand me as I am.”

James nods, hair falling into his face slightly. That sounds…good. It sounds like it makes sense. He’s felt those things before, he thinks. Steve was nice to him, yes, but part of not allowing James to make his own choice about admitting that he killed Tony’s parents was Steve not considering that James desperately needed to regain control over himself—to make his own choices. Steve didn’t think of what he’d been through, he just used the experiences to justify his actions so that Steve wouldn’t lose his best friend.

And, he knows that FRIDAY is his true friend because FRIDAY told him honestly that while she knew the hard facts about what he’d been through, she wasn’t going to forgive him for Siberia. She tried to understand, and she was honest about her feelings afterwards. She was being a trustworthy person.

But, what other examples? Nakia. T’Challa, maybe. The King, though, regarded James mostly as a medical case. The other two people he’d met so far are Miss Potts and Peter, who he doesn’t know. They aren’t friends.

Is Tony a trustworthy person?

“What if there aren’t that many people around for you to try and find out which one they are?”

An ache spreads across Tony’s heart. Yes, James has been painfully socially isolated, only visiting the downstairs offices to speak to people as a stranger, and seeing Tony and Peter every other day. “I’m here.” Tony says before he can stop himself. “I’m here and I’d like to try and be someone you can trust, if you want that.”

With big blue eyes, the Super Soldier stares up at Tony with a strange sort of feeling in his stomach. Not anxiety, just warmth. “Thank you.”

Tony smiles quietly. “That’s what friends are for.”

* * *

_James:_

  * _Want Virginia to like me – why?_
  * _Interests - ?_
  * _Cut hair? - short_
  * _Only yellow paint_
  * _Want Stark to like me_
  * _How to choose food?_
  * _How to choose?_
  * _Choose to forgive?_
  * _Blood on shield?_
  * _Freedom is being able to choose_
  * _I want freedom, I want to be able to choose_
  * _Choose short hair_


  * _Macaroni is good_
  * _Red haired girl is HYDRA?_
  * _Siberia was not good_
  * _Steve decided to lie for me_
  * _I didn’t ask him to do that_
  * _Not letting me choose means I don’t have freedom_



* * *

**_ LETTERS TO STEVE – TO BE SENT AT THE END OF THE MONTH _ **

**_September 18_**

_I have not written because I have been becoming angrier with you._

_I don’t think the file was wrong. I think this because you said that you were friends with Stark. You said that to me. I am angry with you now as I am realizing this. If you were friends with Stark, and you did not tell Stark that I was the one who murdered his parents then that means you were pretending to be friends with him. You were fake about it. That is not how real friends are._

_Are you my real friend?_

_Did you not tell me she was HYDRA just like you did not tell Stark that I was his parents’ killer? Is this how you are to your friends? Are you fake to your friends? Do you let your friends not know what is going on?_

_The news is boring, but I watched it once. I didn’t like it because I didn’t like thinking about how I do not know what is going on. They were arguing on the news. They were wondering if not telling the whole truth counts as lying._

_I decided that I think it counts as lying._

_Did you lie to me?_

_Friends do not lie to one another._

_I learned this because I got to be away from you and then I had access to information. You denied me access to information but I broke away from you just like HYDRA and now I have information. I have information and I know that she was HYDRA. She was. There is a video of her saying so._

_I know videos can be lies too. This just makes things worse. Because if even videos can lie to you, then how can anyone trust friends?_

_I’m afraid that I can’t trust you. I am so afraid of that. We’re supposed to be friends._

_Please tell me the truth. I said earlier in a letter to tell me it wasn’t true that she was HYDRA, but now I want you to tell me whatever is the truth. Tell me honestly because we are the only ones alive from our time. I am the only one alive who has met your Ma. I am the only one alive who is here and knows how it feels to be in a wrong time period._

_Please tell me because I am your friend. I want to be your friend but only if you tell me the truth._

**-James**

* * *

It’s much easier for Peter to hold a grudge when James isn’t around—when all he has to do is picture Mr. Stark’s chest bleeding, and not think about anything else. When James is near, a stinging sense of clarification threatens Peter’s grudge against him. James is a sad old man, traumatized from battles he never wanted to fight.

One afternoon, about a week since James’ last test with Tony, as the mechanic leaves to shower after a few hours in the workshop that left him covered in grease, Peter sits in the kitchen and finishes some homework. Working in the kitchen always makes him feel the best. Something about the cool countertop and the clean windows creates the perfect environment for him to focus on.

For a few minutes he’s in the zone, finishing whole Spanish Worksheets with ease. Then, poking his bubble of serenity with a rusty metal arm, the resident Super Soldier strides into the kitchen and takes a seat beside the teenager, eating Macaroni _again_.

Peter sighs. “Is that all you eat?” How is he supposed to focus with those damn chewing sounds in his ear? Why’d James choose the seat _right_ next to his? Doesn’t he understand the basic social rule of leaving a seat in-between them?

“All I’ve eaten so far.” James says easily. “What’s that big book for?”

“History.” The teenager replies, voice clipped. More chewing. “Do you mind?”

“Mind what?”

“Ugh!” He sighs, lifting his hands exasperatedly. “I can’t focus with you-“

“Steve’s in your book?”

All that Peter can manage now is an eye roll. He really shouldn’t’ve gotten his hopes up that he’d be able to get anything done when there’s a murderer in the house who’s addicted to Mac and Cheese. What has his life come to?

“Yeah. Section’s about propaganda in World War Two.” He responds, bored. “You didn’t know your douchebag friend was just a tool for getting people to clap along?”

“What is a douchebag?”

“A bag of shit.”

James erupts with laughter, covering his mouth with his real hand so that food doesn’t come flying out. A bag of shit! Oh, he definitely is! “That’s the funniest thing I’ heard in years… A bag of shit…”

Peter frowns. He’s never heard a loud noise come out of that man before. Well, besides the chewing. “You think it’s _funny_?”

“He _is_ a douchebag.”

Peter gapes. “Aren’t you his friend?”

“Thought so.” James says thoughtlessly. “Damn, a douchebag. That’s funny.”

What on earth is happening? Did Mr. Stark put him on drugs? Has the doctor ordered cocaine for him, or something? “Y-Whatever. I’m trying to do homework. I can’t focus when you’re chewing like that.” Peter sours. Why does James think that’s funny? Isn’t he supposed to be on Captain America’s side?

The Super Soldier hums. “Didn’t have all those fancy manners when I was a kid. Is Peggy in that book ‘a yours?”

“Peggy who?”

“Carter. She was a real gal, I’ll tell ya’.”

“Uh, Mr. Stark’s Aunt Peggy?” Her last name was Carter, and she knew Captain America and Mr. Stark’s dad.

“Oh.” James says. “I suppose so. Makes sense tha’ she’d be his aunt now, bein’ so close to Howard ‘n all.” He pokes at his food slightly, smile beginning to fade. “Four ‘a us, we were a little group. Friends.” There are no memories to accompany the unusual feelings of longing in his chest, but he knows they were friends. _Friends._

Peter frowns, not understanding this new tone. It’s sort of…sobering. “I’m not sure if she’s in here. I’m only on Chapter 12. There are four chapters on World War Two.” He says, attempting to draw the other man’s thoughts back in from wherever they’d wandered off to.

James nods, apparently not listening to the answer to his own question. “Steve ‘n I might’a been Tony’s… _Uncles_ if we’d lived.” It’s strange wording, Peter notes. James never died, and Steve was technically alive when he was in the ice. Or…did the _we_ include Howard Stark?

And on top of that, it’s an uncomfortable revelation. James is _so_ out of his time period, isn’t he? His would-have-been nephew is older than him, and his would-be-brothers and sisters are long dead, having lived their full lives. Here he is, looking into a book about a war he never got to see the end of.

“I didn’t know you were that good of friends with Mr. Stark’s dad.”

James shrugs, beginning to feel empty. The warm cheese in his mouth stops the cold air of anxiety which would be flooding his lungs. “Yeah. He was my friend. They all were. They’re dead now, and Steve’s…well… I don’t know.” He sighs. “Is Peggy alive? She can’t be, can she?”

“I don’t think she’s alive. You should ask Mr. Stark, though.”

Seconds after he’s swallowed his bite, the cold air fights its way into his throat. Is it guilt or anxiety? He’s still not perfect at recognizing it. “What else does your book say?” He asks, feeling the urge to change the subject. He’ll think about his dead friends later, when he’s having another breakdown in the bathtub.

“Um, lotta stuff. What do you want to know? You didn’t really get to hear about the outcome of the war, did you…”

James shakes his head. “Steve told me that we won, but that’s about it. No news stations on HYDRA bases. Least not for me.”

Desperately, Peter tries his best not to frown too outwardly. _Sad old man…_ “Well, the treaty after the war left Germany a mess. No one was sure how to prosecute the Nazis, so other countries sort of stepped in and had them all tried. Mostly for death. The trials weren’t necessarily _fair_ , legally-speaking, but, y’know, if you’re a Nazi responsible for hundreds of deaths, then it’s kinda on you.”

James listens with half-fascination. He hadn’t heard about this part, but it doesn’t sound like anything he’d be against completely. “Any of ‘em get away?”

“Some. Fleeing to other countries wasn’t uncommon, but people still hunt them down today, take them in when they’re all old and shriveled up.” Peter tries not to shiver. “But, Hitler died. Killed himself.”

It’s easier to forget about how dead friends deserved better when there’s news like that. “He got away that easy?” James asks, upset.

“Most people agree he deserved worse, yeah. Then, all the world power shifted and things were a mess. The US and Russia became essentially economic powerhouses—that’s what our packet says—and the Cold War began.” Somehow, Peter manages to be impressed with himself. He remembered _economic powerhouses_ which he needs to use on the test in the written answer section. He’s going to do so well.

“How’s it cold?”

“It’s like…a Cold War is a passive aggressive war. You don’t _declare_ war, but you get other countries to pick sides and you try to gain advantages and stuff.”

That’s how Steve wanted to deal with James killing Tony’s parents. Never saying it out loud, just making plans for if a battle had to come, one he wouldn’t initiate. It’s cowardly. “Sounds…stupid. Immature. Why not just _go to war_?”

Peter shrugs. The Cold War has always been a boring subject for him to read about. Never as interesting as the _real_ things. “Well, everyone was afraid of getting nuked. Not totally irrational, I guess.”

James shakes his head, seeming dumbfounded. “The whole country got into that war…” he mutters. “What about the Japanese? They all get prosecuted?”

“Ah…” Peter’s least favorite topic of all. Stupid debates on whether or not the bombing was justified. Why can’t everyone just agree that it _sucked_ no matter what? No one _wants_ citizens dead! They just wanted _their own_ citizens dead even less. “Basically, imagine the worst possible case scenario…”

For the next hour or so they go over what Peter already knows about the war—typical knowledge, really, and James is amazed. He’s missed so, so much. The ache in his chest comes back, but is slightly placated by the stream of information coming from the teenager’s mouth.

Access to information is freedom.

* * *

Tony saunters back down through the stairway but stops in his tracks as he sees the two in the kitchen. His first instinct is protectiveness. Undoubtedly Peter is there giving shit to James, who is in unsuspecting target. Peter will get himself punched if he takes it too far. Tony begins to step forward to pull the two apart, until he finds that maybe the sight is stranger than he first thought it to be.

Peter is leaning over a textbook, pointing at the page as James sits shoulder-to-shoulder next to him. They’re close to one another without Peter attacking? Tony watches in shock as James asks without looking up “How many genocides are there?” and Peter replies, “too many,”.

Is…have they been cloned and kidnapped? Are these the willing robots created by whoever stole them? Peter is _touching_ James. That’s ridiculous! Is he doing this so that he can turn around quick and stab him? Is there some nefarious plan in the works here? Should he interrupt? Should he demand Peter stop trying to kill the man?

It’s not a bad sight, he decides. If Peter and James are somehow getting along, then that’s good. It means that there will be another superhero for Peter to genuinely look up to.

A strike of unusual feeling flares up in Tony’s chest, and he tries squash it down. He doesn’t want to feel so glad that Peter likes James, like he would feel glad if Peter liked a guy that Tony brought home. No, no. He only wants Peter and James to have a good relationship so that B.A.R.F will go well, not because he thinks James is timid and sort of cute in a pathetic way, and he wants to see him grow and develop as a person, right along next to Peter. Not because he’s growing to _like_ James, but because he is growing to really want B.A.R.F to grow well. There is nothing else.

* * *

Sounds of scraping and clanging metal fill the huge Workshop, echoing off the concrete walls and filling James’ ears. It reminds him of his time with HYDRA. All that he can do to comfort himself is think of how this time is different than the other times that he’s had a scientist check on his arm—this time, he trusts the scientist, and this time, the scientist won’t intentionally hurt him. He’s safe now.

“In order to get at the rest of your arm, I’m gonna need you to take your shirt off. Today I’ll be looking at the panel in your shoulder.” Tony tells him as he moves away from the metal hand on the bench which had so far been the focus of their work. Today, though, he needs to look at the rest. He can’t put it off any longer.

The mechanic had attempted to convince himself that he wouldn’t need to check the shoulder, but he shouldn’t’ve tried to kid himself. That’s where the controls are, he knows now. There are no malfunctions in the hand, after all. The problem is in the controls, and they can’t start B.A.R.F until it’s inspected and fixed.

Hesitant, James bites his lip. He never liked taking his shirt off around HYDRA. They always poked him when he did. But…this is Tony, and he’s come to have about a half level of trust between one another. No needles have been used so far, and Tony would tell him if they were going to have to use them, James thinks.

He reaches above his head to pull his shirt over his head, skin prickling at the cold air attacking him.

Tony, facing the scans so that James may have a moment of privacy while he takes off his shirt, tries to prepare himself. _There might be a bunch of sad scars or bullet wounds, he might be maimed, do not react. Do not react and freak him out, just pretend like there’s nothing here._

Finally, he turns around, screw driver in hand, and takes in the man before him. James is…muscular. Whatever armor HYDRA used must have been damn thick, because his skin is relatively scar-free, like Steve’s, and his arms are pale and strong, like it’s been kept away from the sun. He’s… _hot_. Not bad at all…

“I’m going to open the control panel,” Tony tells him, acting as if he hasn’t just seen a living Greek statue before his very eyes, “I’m not sure if it’ll hurt, but you should brace yourself.”

James huffs a little, uncomfortable. “It doesn’ hurt much. When Handler opened it, it only stung a little.”

“Do you remember what he used to do when he opened it?” Tony asks, perking up slightly. Maybe James will remember something useful.

“No. Don’ really wanna think about it, so the memories go away.”

Now that the panel is open, Tony makes a sound of interest. James can’t tell if it’s a good sign or a bad one. He hopes there’s nothing wrong with his arm. “Alright,” the mechanic announces, “wow. This is way cruder work than I thought it’d be.” Tony resists the urge to wonder if James was possibly awake for this arm being put in his shoulder. “Did the government really call _this_ advanced? I didn’t know their standards were so low. No offense.” Does James like his arm?

The arm, if compared to some inferior works, is okay. It functions almost fully, and only lacks because of how long it’s been since a touch-up by HYDRA. But the functionality of it is…off. The thing hangs off of James’ shoulder like a squid tentacle—out of place, uncomfortable, and nearly useless. Small and delicate movements are saved for the flesh hand. If James wants to maim someone, then he goes for the solid, metal hand. It could most definitely be improved.

“None taken. ‘S not like I like it.” James huffs.

“Can this go in water?” He asks curiously, inspecting the inner workings and trying not to cringe. The skin around the joint between arm and shoulder is red and inflamed, angry at the offences committed against it.

“Yeah.”

The mechanic can only hope that James didn’t get any of that Bath Bomb water into it because now that he’s up close, he can see that that would greatly mess up the joint between the shoulder and arm. If James had worn short sleeves at all during his stay here, Tony might have been able to spot it earlier and warn him against it. But James had kept his shoulder covered. Tony thought that there might be… _scars_ there when he’d first lifted up the sleeve, but there were none. The long sleeves, according to James, are a comfort he allows himself.

“Been thinkin’, anyway…” James starts. “HYDRA gave me the arm, kept it on like they kept my hair long. Think ‘m gonna take the arm out like ‘m cutting my hair.” Though he hasn’t figured out a way to get his hair cut, he can take out his arm with no problem. It’ll hurt, but he can do it.

Tony raises a brow and drops his hands away from the arm, standing upright for the first time in hours. He’s been bent over this damned piece of scrap metal all day, and now James is telling him he wants it _gone?_ Tony’s been planning to fix it! Though he hasn’t told James that…

“You’d only have one arm then.”

James chuckles. “Well I don’t really plan on fighting any time soon.” He shrugs and a stinging sensation shoots up his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch. “When I take it out, you can have it, if you want. Study it or somethin’.”

“I can _have_ it? It’s your arm.” Tony takes a full step back.

“Well ‘m just gonna throw it away if you don’t want it.”

“ _Throw it away?”_

“I got no use for it.” James explains as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He didn’t want the arm when they put it in him, so now he’s _choosing_ to take it out. Easy.

Despite himself, Tony scoffs. What on Earth is this guy talking about? Throwing away a whole arm? _His_ _whole arm?_ What kind of body dysphoria must he _have_? “I don’t really think it’ll be so easy to just…take your arm out.” He looks into James’ eyes and sees that he’s not at all reconsidering his decision. “You…okay. How about this: I’ll look at your arm and find a safe way to remove it. If you decide you don’t want it, I’ll take it and hold it for you so that if you change your mind, you’ll be able to have it back.”

James does _not_ like the implication that he can’t make his own decisions. It’s like HYDRA, like Steve, who didn’t let him choose to face his actions. It’s _bad_. He can make his own choices. “I am choosing to keep my arm off.” He says seriously. “I can choose that. It’s my choice.”

Tony raises his brow. Okay. What’d he say? He was just being helpful! “Yeah, I know. It’s your choice. It’s just that generally, I like the people here to be safe in their medical endeavors. It’s not safe to just…rip something out of your socket. I can help you. If you want.”

Reluctantly scanning the other man, James furrows his brow. Keep him safe? That’s what _Steve_ said he was doing by not letting James choose. “I’ll be fine.”

All that Tony can do is gape. “I…I’m not trying to say that you’re weak, just that you’re _human._ It would not be good to have you going through B.A.R.F while recovering from self-amputation.”

“HYDRA already cut the real one off. What’s the difference?”

“Uh…” Didn’t he lose his arm when he fell off the train? Whatever, Tony will look into that later, and hopefully James won’t have that huge of a memory problem. “There’s not a difference.” Tony stares into his eyes and moves towards the edge of his seat. “It’s…If you get rid of this arm, it’ll feel just like when they took your last one. We wouldn’t be going through B.A.R.F if someone else had just took your arm, either. Losing arms…well, just in general, it’s not a good thing.”

James frowns. He didn’t like losing his arm. But… “It’s my choice.” He’s already written it down on his list. His decision’s been made.

“It…It is your choice. You’re right about that. You can also, though, _choose_ to let me help. Let me show you how to remove it safely. You can do it yourself, nice and clean, how it’s supposed to be. Then we can patch you up and keep going with B.A.R.F.” Right now, it’s definitely not clean or safe.

Oh. Choose to let him help? That’s not an offer Steve gave him. Steve just went ahead and did what he thought was best. Tony is…Tony is _offering_. Giving him a choice—giving him that freedom.

“Okay. I will…decide later.”

Tony nods, unsatisfied with his response. This joint needs to be cleansed and disinfected as soon as possible. Giving James time to sulk over however Tony had offended him is not ideal for his health. At least, not his physical health. Damn it, is this going to have to be a moment where he has to choose between prioritizing physical health over mental health? He’s never been good at that—usually choosing neither.

Okay, okay, all he has to do is get James to relax a little and let him continue his tests on the arm. “Alright, good. I…can I keep looking at your arm? Just to make sure it’s safe to have it in now? If it’s infected, it’ll have to have time to get cleaned before any other actions are taken, so it’s best to look at it soon.” He tries to make his voice level and gentle, but he’s not sure he’s doing the best job.

James, however, seems slightly convinced. “Go ahead.”

* * *

_James:_

  * _Want Virginia to like me – why?_
  * _Interests - ?_
  * _Cut hair? - short_
  * _Only yellow paint_
  * _Want Stark to like me_
  * _How to choose food?_
  * _How to choose?_
  * _Choose to forgive?_
  * _Blood on shield?_
  * _Freedom is being able to choose_
  * _I want freedom, I want to be able to choose_
  * _Choose short hair_
  * _Macaroni is good_
  * _Red haired girl is HYDRA?_
  * _Siberia was not good_
  * _Steve decided to lie for me_
  * _I didn’t ask him to do that_
  * _Not letting me choose means I don’t have freedom_
  * _Want arm gone_



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants to start a squad of ppl who have no tumblr followers but keep posting things anyway??? I'm [starkmarks](http://starkmarks.tumblr.com/) we should hang out.
> 
> If I made like a google hangouts chat would anyone join?? im always bored. u can check out my tumblr if u would like it yall
> 
> What do you think about James wanting his arm gone? Would you want it gone too? I think I would.
> 
> Coming up next: Movie night, How does FRIDAY feel? And James’ arm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is pretty, Bucky is hot, and Peter is a hypocrite because he also chews loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao so im doing the thing where I totally set the scene incorrectly w the letters to steve because this is a lighthearted chapter but the note’s sad but im doing it anyway fuck foreshadowing

**_ LETTERS TO STEVE – TO BE SENT AT THE END OF THE MONTH _ **

_I’m upset. I’m not angry, but I’m sad and I’m anxious and its not because of you. These are my emotions._

_Did you know Peggy is Tony Stark’s aunt? I think I would be smoking cigars in an Old Folks home with Peggy and Howard if HYDRA hadn’t gotten me. I would have a nephew. I would have a family. Maybe Howard wouldn’t be there though. He’d probably rather have been dead than be stuck in a Home._

_I’m starting to envision the future HYDRA took from me. Wife and kids, nice big house, dinner with them at Uncle Howard’s, all my metals on an office wall. Watching TV and understanding it._

_I’ll never had that._

_My therapist (they say normal people have them now but Im not convinced. Im also not stupid enough to think that I’m normal and get all offended) says I’m mourning the loss of something that never existed. Do you know how hard that is? You must after you went through the ice._

_Do you know that that’s what Tony had to do when I killed his parents? He had to mourn the loss of a future with parents. He doesn’t have that future with parents now. You lied to him about that and you made it worse. Then he had to mourn the loss of a friend who’s still alive._

_I’m more angry with HYDRA than I was before and I’m more mad at you than I was before._

_Howard only got a little of his future with the wife and the kids and the dinners. I took the rest of it away. He will never get to mourn the loss of his future because he’s already dead._

_When I think a little about what I want, I think I want everyone in HYDRA dead. I want their futures gone too. But it’s a gross feeling. I don’t want to want that. I want to not be angry, but I deserve to be angry. I am letting myself feel that because I deserve to feel. HYDRA didn’t let me feel. _

-James

* * *

Peter brings far too many snacks onto the couch for the movie, in James’ opinion. Who on earth could eat all that in the time it takes to watch a move? He has red twisty sticks and many different kinds of chocolate balls in boxes, along with a full bag of popcorn. Could James have eaten that much when he was a teenager?

When Peter says that James can have some while they watch, James tries not to overthink it. He’s not crazy, he can choose. He’s not crazy like Peter, who brings them all instead of choosing one. James can decide!

He picks the closest one to him, knowing that he shouldn’t ask FRIDAY to choose for him—not when Peter’s there to witness what is definitely strange behavior. It’s a small victory that he can take some of the yellow popcorn without concerning himself with all the disastrous consequences it might have.

“The rabbits are British?” James exclaims as the movie starts.

Peter is next to him on the couch, wrapped up in a brown blanket, shoving popcorn into his mouth by the handful and texting his friends in the groupchat. “…the surprise is with the rabbits being British, not the rabbits talking?”

**_MJ:_ ** _how is it having the super freak there?? Has he killed u yet_

James snorts. “I’ve come across plenty of strange things in this Compound, but there’s not one British person.” Last week, he’d accidentally snuck up on Peter and the boy had jumped up in the air and stuck to the wall by accident. _That_ was a normal strange, he supposes.

**_Peter_ ** _: you joke but it is a concern_

**_Peter:_ ** _he’s okay I guess_

**_Peter:_ ** _he’s like super emo but he’s like old. I’ve never met an old emo person irl before lol_

“If there’re any British people here, that means they’re here about the accords, so feel free to avoid them at all costs.” Peter says.

“That's what you do?”

Peter speaks through his chewing of the popcorn and James shakes his head. The hypocrisy! Peter had given James so much shit about talking while eating macaroni! “Every time. But Mr. Stark usually doesn’t have me over when that stuff’s going on.”

**_MJ:_ ** _lmaoooo seventh grade me would like him_

**_Ned:_ ** _don’t bring up seventh grade I try so hard to forget it_

**_MJ:_ ** _Peter is he hot tho??_

Of course, James figures, Stark would keep Peter away from the accords nonsense—it’s what a parent would do, and from what he’s observed, Tony is essentially Peter’s father. “Must be hard, dealing with all of that. ‘S not like Steve ‘n the others are doin’ anything to help with it.” James mutters.

“No kidding.” Curiosity stirred by his friends’ stupid comments, Peter glances over at James. He is…okay looking. Kind of hot. He tries to judge James objectively. Strong jawline, pretty enough eyes, dark stubble and hair tugged back in an awfully done bun…

**_Peter:_ ** _lol we all do_

**_Peter_ ** _: anyway he’s like lowkey hot_

**_Peter:_ ** _in like a homeless model sort of way_

**_MJ:_ ** _how I be lookin at the gas station_

**_Peter_ ** _: he’s like nice in a pathetic way_

**_Peter_ ** _: and he has a man bun but he almost pulls it off_

**_Ned:_ ** _no such thing as being able to pull a man bun off_

**_MJ:_ ** _ur just salty cause ur bald_

**_Ned:_ ** _I’m not denying that_

**_MJ:_ ** _anyway date him peter_

**_Peter:_ ** _he still tried to kill Mr. Stark_

**_MJ:_ ** _he’s hot tho_

**_Peter:_ ** _lmao whatever_

**_Peter:_ ** _I have to go I have real things to worry about_

**_Ned:_ ** _send a pic of him when you can tho_

Peter rolls his eyes and just continues to look at the screen as they remain mostly quiet for the remainder of the movie.

At the thought of Stark, James shifts in his seat. He’s decided that Tony’s eyes are pretty. Deep and brown like the tree trunks in Wakanda, they captivate James at the very worst of times. And he thinks that while Tony is not holistically pretty—not like Ms. Potts—he is _handsome_.

James is not sure that he should like how handsome Tony is, but he does. The mechanic’s hands are just that—mechanics hands. They’re scarred and masculine and strong, just like his shoulders, which are broad and thick. James _likes_ it. He wants to hold Tony’s shoulders. He wants to hug Tony.

Of course, this is bad. James doesn’t even have time to consider if he _should_ like that Tony is…a man…because he is too busy trying to suppress the thoughts when he’s around Tony. Every time that they go down to the Workshop together, he finds himself staring and trying to figure out these jumbled up emotions which have forced their way through his head.

Tony touches his metal arm which James can’t even feel? James likes it. James wants him to keep touching it. Tony looks at James for too long to ensure that the Soldier knows he’s safe? James _loves_ it. It’s like heroin.

Well, he shouldn’t say that. He’s been watching the news more often and apparently drugs are a very huge issue. Nowadays, apparently, having an addiction is considered a disease. So maybe it’s not heroin, but James surely wants more of it.

And, god, when Tony says his new name, James feels at home. That’s when he feels safe. He wants to touch Tony’s hair.

It is so nice to have a friend. 

* * *

FRIDAY was not programmed to be mindlessly judgmental, but she thinks that she very well may be gaining the trait.

When James—Sargent Barnes—first showed up in Compound, she hated him, even though he had never been within her reach. She hated that he was timid, she hated that he knew nothing about the world, and she hated that he was so emotionally destroyed. Of course, those are things that people, she’s observes, pity one another for. She does not pity him.

She _judges_ him for being so timid towards Pepper and Happy when he had been deadly towards Boss. She judges him for knowing nothing about the world he’d worked to make a worse place, and she judges him for being emotionally destroyed when _he_ was the one who destroyed Boss emotionally. She hates people for pitying this man—for even considering allowing him near Boss.

Those damned US Government representatives, not considering Boss’ safety…

But then, though she is beyond tentative about it, a flowering relationship has come about between FRIDAY and James. He asks her how she _feels_ —something that humans so rarely consider—and she hates how it makes her hate him a little less. Her answer is objective, but not supportive. He accepts. She hates that he accepts. If he didn’t, she could go back to mindlessly hating him.

Now, FRIDAY’s judgmental nature, still ever-developing, has reached a new level. She is not judging him by hating him, she is just _judging_ him.

In the morning, he put on a _navy-blue_ t-shirt and _black_ pants. How could he have been a part of this world for so long and not have learned that that is a fashion _don’t_? Then, later, he goes to take a bath, and he just looks _strange_. She is judging him because she finds him _weird._

He is a six-foot two Super Soldier, World War Two Survivor and POW, and he chooses a bright pink bath-bomb with gold glitter labeled _Pretty Princess_ when he goes to take a bath. The water is neon and shimmery around him, and he plays around in it like a child. Why is he so _weird?_ He had to take his hidden knife (she couldn’t prove that’s what it was because she doesn’t have cameras in the bathroom where he set it, but she’s pretty sure that’s what it is) out of his pockets before he got into his princess bath!

Breaking her out of her confusion, James, in the bath, calls out her name.

_“Yes, James?”_

“Is Miss Potts…dating anyone?” He asks, voice sounding hesitant.

FRIDAY frowns internally. Yes, James is weird. What on earth could have prompted that? Based on FRIDAY’s research in the last six seconds, in modern media asking if someone single is a sign that you plan to _ask out_ said person. It’s her prediction that Pepper will not say yes if James asks to date her.

Ms. Potts had come to the Compound yesterday to have lunch with Tony. She had said hello to Peter, hugged a few people down in the offices of the Compound, and had gone straight to Tony, showing no outward interest in James, except for asking questions about him during her lunch. But FRIDAY thinks that that was more about ensuring that Tony was safe rather than checking up on how James is doing.

It almost…hurts FRIDAY to see someone not get to know James. James is very polite and nice. He is a good enough friend, and Ms. Potts is missing out on that. But, she supposes it’s understandable. Humans can be judgmental, even more than FRIDAY.

So, attempting despite herself to spare James from rejection, the AI says: _“I am unsure of her romantic relationships past her breakup with Boss.”_

She wishes that she could see his reaction. Please, please do not ask blatantly if she’s single. “H-What? She dated _Tony_?”

_“Yes.”_

“Why?”

FRIDAY pauses and James realizes quickly that his question was stupid. Why is he asking FRIDAY, who _is_ a robot that? And it’s rude to ask anyone that. He doesn’t have time to take it back.

_“I don’t believe that I have the emotional capacity to understand the depth of romantic relationships. Would you like me to ask Boss for you?”_

He nearly chokes. “Wh-No. No. No.” He’s never going to ask FRIDAY for anything like that ever again. “Um, no. Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve asked that. It was more of a…a _thought_ than a question.” He grunts. “They just seem real different. Tony is fun and generous. Miss Potts is…pretty.” He doesn’t want to insult her by saying that she’s mean, but she kind of is.

_“I have been informed that Boss is pretty too.”_

James chuckles. “Maybe.”

As she considers this confirmation about both James being weird and her liking him more, her Boss calls her name on the other side of the Compound, down in the Lab.

_“Yes, Boss?”_

Tony, tinkering away at the latest version of his gauntlets, grunts out his question, barely awake enough to think about what he’d called FRIDAY for. Last night he had worked for hours on end without any breaks, and it’s finally showing through in his work. The gauntlets are advanced beyond any other version, now, but his hands are shaking as he tries to do something as simple as _closing_ them up. “Is James free for a checkup on that arm? Think I’ve found a way to get it out.” He tells his AI.

FRIDAY smiles to herself. James will find that news most pleasing, and so will Boss. He’ll be able to have the arm all for himself _. “James is in the bathtub.”_

“Again?” Tony pauses at his work, the only break he’s taken all day, even if it’s just momentary. “Are you guys talking?”

_"Yes. Would you like to know what about?”_

“Is it any of my business?”

“James says that you may be pretty.” Well, that’s not exactly the truth, but it’s close enough, and she likes seeing her Boss’ reaction. He looks shocked, and awkwardly laughs it off as if he hadn’t heard anything at all. The same way he did when Ms. Potts had first shown interest in him. She’ll think about that later.

_"James says he will come down to have his arm removed after his bath. He is most excited by this news.”_

Tony clicks his tongue. “FRI, are you up to something?”

“I am up to nothing, Boss.”

* * *

James’ hair is pulled back into a bun, still wet, and Tony physically cringes at the sight. How is it going to dry like that? It’s just going get an ugly bump in it when he takes it down. Pepper would be ashamed. Of course, Pepper wouldn’t say it to his face because she doesn’t really know James. It’s a bit of a strange notion—that James and Pepper aren’t friends. They’re the two people who take up the most of Tony’s time lately, and yet they’re unconnected. Tony’s the only thing they have in common. 

“What’re you staring at?” James asks, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt, appearing to be nervous. “D’you know how ta get my arm out?”

He’s so shy like this, all curled up in on himself, biting his lower lip and looking up with tentative hope in his eyes. It’s almost…endearing. Tony pushes the emotion down. That’s far too rare a feeling for him to be harboring for someone like James. He can’t be feeling anything for anyone, in fact. He needs to focus on accords and Peter and all his responsibilities. James is _not_ cute. He is not cute in his sweater and his bun and his stupid bright eyes, shining in the light of the Workshop.

Tony smiles ear to ear, trying to shake the sense that he wants to get closer to James. It’s nice to finally have some good news for the man. After around a month of ‘hey, this is literally your very last chance’ and ‘also, your best friend betrayed you’, he is glad to be able to say, “Yes. I can get your arm out, and everything’s going to be fine. You can do it yourself, too. I’ll just show you how." 

“Oh my god.” This is the biggest smile Tony has seen on James’ face. “Really? I can just…take it out?”

“Well, it’ll take some tinkering, but we’re gonna get it out.” Tony chirps. “Come sit here,” James follows his instructions, seating himself on a stool beside the table, “now, we’re gonna run a scan today, one last one. Should be real quick, nothing should’ve changed.” An incomprehensible pattern of tapping buttons follows, and James watches with excitement as a blue wave of light goes over his arm like a barcode, and Tony announces that everything is going to go as planned.

Is this really happening? He really gets to take his own arm out—to make his own _decision_ about his own _body_. And to follow through with it! Gosh, this is just too much…He’d decided to cut his hair, but he hadn’t been able to do it. This is the very first thing he’ll be able to do it.

“So, we’re first going to open the panel on the side. See that?” Tony gestures on the screen to a little square on the side of the arm. “You’re going to need still hands for this; no shaking. Think you can do that?” James nods eagerly. He can do anything if it means getting this stupid hunk of metal out of his arm socket. “Now, I’ll take you through it step by step. It’s moving wires around, twisting gears and finally, pulling it out. It’ll depend on how everything goes, I might need to help with finding the angle to take it out yet, but I’m going to try and make it mostly you. I know it’s not fun to have me touching the arm.”

“Yeah, it sucks.” James says far too casually. He isn’t focusing on all that. This is _good_. This is the best news he’s heard in months. Years, probably. “But, it’ll be out?”

“Yes.” Tony says happily. “Are you ready to get started?”

“Let’s do it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tony-centric chapter before out next chapter (which is centered between james and peter). This is a shorter chapter but honestly, I think it’s my favorite one I’ve done this whole time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is disappointing and short but the next ones are some of my favorites.

Tony and Peter love science _so much_ it is almost annoying. They’re always gibbering on about Artificial Intelligence this and Gauntlets that. James doesn’t understand any of it! He doesn’t want them to stop talking about it, though; it clearly makes them happy, but he doesn’t want to just sit around and not know what they’re talking about. He wants to be _friends_ with them. He has to get what they’re talking about!

So, he begins another list. He’s decided that lists help him think better.

** Science Things that Tony and Peter talk about but I don’t Know What They Are **

  * Artificial Intelligence
  * MARK IV
  * Internet Explore? Why is it funny?
  * Gauntlets
  * Bruce Banner – green bean?
  * Quinn Jets
  * Processor
  * Justin Hammer – buttface?



He has FRIDAY explain them all to him, but then Tony and Peter just start talking about _even more_ science stuff. He can’t make a list of it all!

With a sigh he falls back on his bed. “I am never going to be able to understand science. I can’t even tell if they’re talking about science or about people they’re making fun of!”

FRIDAY, though her name hasn’t been said, knows that it’s her James is speaking to. He frequently talks to her so that he may have someone to listen to him, rather than going to his therapist. He says that going to Dr. Mendoza seems extreme, when all he wants to do is _complain yer ear off, FRIDAY._

 _“A good way to start ones’ scientific journey is through beginner experiments.”_ FRIDAY tells him. _“Perhaps you would like to start constructing your own experiments so that you may start your scientific journey.”_

“I don’t know how to _experiment_.” He sighs, feeling defeated. He doesn’t know anything about science! How is he ever going to be friends with people who he has no interests in common with?

James’ distress is clear. FRIDAY considers what she might be able to do to assist him. Sometimes humans want to be upset—they want to give up and they do not want to find an actual solution to the problem. Is this a moment where she should allow the human to wallow, or should she force him to look up? 

If she allows him to give up on trying be Boss’ friend, then Boss will miss out on the opportunity to be James’ friend. FRIDAY know that James is a good friend. Boss should have that too. _“I could find a website with beginner experiments and directions. It is helpful to start at the beginning when learning to proper process of experimentation.”_

Slowly, James lifts his head off the desk. Learning something new… he can do that. He _should_ be able to do that. He never got that opportunity in HYDRA. Or, at least, he doesn’t remember learning anything new. “Um, okay. Sure. Thanks.” He says. 

_“I am searching for_ how to experiment as a beginner. _It may take a moment, as I am filtering out pornography.”_

“What?”

_“I have found one article explaining the scientific method—the process which one follows when conducting an experiment, and another article for middle school science teachers giving examples of good experiments for their beginner scientists to conduct.”_

James frowns. “Alright.” He breathes out heavily. “Where do I start?”

“Materials. You will need: a glass of water, a larger volume of water--I believe that a bathtub will work--and a thick piece of paper.”

* * *

Tony Stark is a very busy man. Between Peter, James, Pepper and Rhodes’ needs which he has to meet, there is almost no time for anything else. He hasn’t had a vacation in years, and if he didn’t enjoy his work, he probably would’ve died of boredom by now.

Sometimes, though, he allows himself a small moment of piece, and decides to just have a conversation with FRIDAY. He feels like doing that now, as he sits in his Workshop at 4:36 a.m. and ignores everything that he needs to do. He’ll sit here with the list of his of things in front of him, but he won’t do any of it. 

“FRI, can you show me a list of what I need to do? Combine the James, Peter, SI, and Avengers lists.”

_“Yes, Boss. You have 7 high priority items. Would you like me to read those to you?”_

“Yes, please.”

 _“You have a meeting for SI in Two days and another in four days. You have a scheduled appointment to check up on James’ arm in an hour, and another in six more days. Colonel Rhodes has requested an upgrade on his suit. He said that it would not be high priority, but you upgraded it to Level three priority. There is a lunch with Miss Potts tomorrow afternoon and this weekend Peter will be staying at the Compound overnight to catch up on his training."_

He sighs. “Yeah. Well, that’s a nightmare. ‘m not gonna do any of that right now...FRIDAY, what was the whole deal with James being freaked out that I was trying to help with the arm? Does he not like me?” Since she and James are supposedly friends now, she must know.

“I have observed that James has very strong feelings about making his own choices.”

“What do you mean?”

 _“James writes about making choices frequently. In his notes, he emphasizes that freedom is the ability to choose for yourself._ ” Not an exact excerpt, FRIDAY makes sure. Not a violation of privacy. “ _Would you like to see his notes?”_

“No.” That’s definitely too personal. “Has he written about his arm? Is he okay since it’s gone?” Getting arm out had gone well. There’d been no freak-out, just a little pain and wincing, and then it was gone. Easy enough.

Ever since, James had been back each day to see Dr. Mackenzie, who makes sure that everything is clean. In place of the old Super Soldier arm is a bandaged stump, and yet he has seemed happy. Tony just wanted to be sure that this wasn’t some kind of brewing body dysmorphia. Dr. Mendoza has been on the lookout for signs of that, but so far none. 

_“James seems very satisfied with the change, though he is upset that he cannot get his shoulder wet in the bath. James enjoys his baths.”_

“He does, doesn’t he.” Tony muses. He supposes that James with his hair all wet and bubbles surrounding him is a cute enough image. James _is_ cute.

 _“Do you like James, Boss?”_

“Huh?” It’s not very often that FRIDAY asks about Tony’s emotions, except for when she’s trying to learn. “Sure, why do you ask?”

_“I am trying to understand how your actions with James go beyond the relationship of a scientist allowing a patient to use his technology. You spent extensive time studying the scans of James’ arm so that he may remove it himself, and you insist that Peter be kind to James. I do not believe that you would go to such lengths to assist anyone else who was there in Siberia.”_

Tony sighs. “I don’t know. It’s…it’s not his fault. And now that he’s here, I know he’s not a bad person, and he’s not Steve. I know that…I can trust him, you know? He’s the only person I’m confident deserves to be helped.”

Internally, FRIDAY cannot help but to smile. _“He very much is.”_

“Maybe…Maybe I should take a look at that Satanic fucking arm.” He mutters. Maybe he can help James some more if he studies it.

That damned thing had been the last physical remnants of HYDRA’s torture, and while Tony isn’t eager to applaud anything of theirs, he can learn a lot from the arm. Of course, that’d be doing something on his list. Tony doesn’t do things on the list. Certainly not because he thinks that James is endearing.

He pulls the hunk of metal from his box and stares at it, pulling up a few scans of the piece. The arm is a nightmare. It hasn’t been properly cleaned for months, as it can only be done when it’s removed from James’ shoulder altogether. Crusted blood lines the interior, a sign of a few major design flaws.

The more that Tony take it apart and inspects it, the more that his heart aches for James. James who only eats macaroni and salad, James who was scared by the monkeys in the Wizard of Oz, which they watched together last week. James, sweet James, who deserves nothing but the best, but was stuck with this awful contraption on his body.

In the entirety of the arm, a maze of wires and plugs and gears, not one single piece serves the purpose of sparing James pain. The thing is masterful, Tony begrudgingly admits, but the maker’s cruelty is manifested in the machine more than his education is. How could any engineer use their talents for such evil? The arm is in no way as impersonal as Tony’s weapons were, though he admits he had fault in constructing those. But as the engineer, there’d be no distancing yourself from the person who would bear the weight of this arm.

How could someone design an arm which destroyed the person who wears it? That’s…that’s not even half-assing the job, just leaving out the _comfort_ part of designing. Either HYDRA specifically asked them to do that, or they themselves were just as evil as their work.

If Tony had made the arm, it would be infinitely better. For starters, he definitely would’ve made it sleek instead of clunky. The crudeness of the arm is one of its biggest flaws. Of course, it wouldn’t’ve had that damned star. What kind of an engineer would’ve opted for something so cliché? The joints would be clean and wouldn’t need such constant cleaning, and it would’ve felt like a normal hand to whoever wore it. It’d be like a normal flesh hand, but better looking and better functioning. James wouldn’t even know it was there!

 _If I made it, it’d be like this_ , Tony thinks, scratching out a rough sketch of an arm and outlining the plates. Already, he can picture how the wiring would start. It’d go this way, then that way. It’d be perfect. 

By the end of the hour, he has a near complete beginning to an arm that he realizes he must try to do something with.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gay vs. The Sadness
> 
> In this chapter we have: does peter suddenly like james now?, tony is gay?, barf starting, and war memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bag on steve a little in this chapter, but it’s nothing personal I just like to amuse myself
> 
> Here comes the gay stream of thoughts yippee
> 
> STORY WRITING UPDATE:
> 
> I was going to end this story on a kind of unsatisfying note, but I've decided to extend this story. That means that I'm still going to be in the process of writing! I'm not sure how I like the way that the next few chapters come into play, even though they're my favorite so far. I don't know if this will effect how often the story is updated, but I'm going to try to keep the same schedule: three weeks in between every chapter. I know it's a long wait but I don't want to rush out all of the chapters early then have nothing else.
> 
> Also, I'm trying to finish Figures in the Daylight, and work on other writing projects that I've got going on that you can see by going through all my various tumblrs. But either way, I really want to respect this story. I'm not going to keep it going for the reads when I think it should be done, and I'm not going to rush towards the ending. I think that this story just deserves a little bit better than that.

“So, you’re spending a lot of time with James lately.” Tony notes, glancing over at Peter suggestively. The boy has been having movie nights and lunches and dinners with the resident Super Soldier often enough that it’s come to the attention of his Aunt May, who had personally contacted Tony to see if Peter was safe being around James so much. “You’re getting along now?”

Lately, Tony had noticed that the two had been together more and more often. Peter laughs too long at James jokes and stares too long at his face. It’s a _crush_ and Tony thinks it’s just adorable.

Peter shrugs. Why is Mr. Stark making it a big deal? Peter was wrong about James, yes. Well, he wasn’t wrong. James _did_ kill Mr. Stark’s parents and he is an ex-assassin, but he’s also fun to talk about history with, and he asks how Peter’s day has been every time they see one another. He’s just…James isn’t so bad.

“Yeah. He’s alright, I guess.” _Super hot._ “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Tony says, nonchalant. “I’m just glad that you like him.”

The teenager nods. “Yeah. Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do _you_ like him?”

Tony starts. “Oh.” He likes James, he knows, but it’s strange to be asked about it. Especially when he was asking Peter about it, accusing him of having a crush. Does Peter somehow have the audacity to ask _him_ if he has a crush on James? “Uh, yeah. He’s nice. He played with DUM-E the other day, which no one’s really bothered to do before. It was nice.” Tony says quietly. “I don’t know. It’s a little weird having someone who _gets_ having Cap betray them. A little refreshing, if you look past the negative emotions around it.”

Peter quirks a brow. “What do you mean? How’d he betray him?”

“Steve didn’t tell James that Wanda, the witch, was HYDRA. James sat at the same table as her, stayed in the same building as her for months, after he’d been tortured by HYDRA for years. When he found out Steve knew, well…”

"I didn’t know that. I guess that’s why he agreed that he was a douche.”

“What?”

“I called Captain America a douchebag and James thought it was funny.”

Tony laughs out loud, despite himself. “He did?”

"Yeah. It was pretty funny. Anyway, it makes sense that you’d _like_ him.” He prods. “He’s all tall, like the other guys you like.”

“Wh-What? He is _not_.”

“He is tall.” James is _very_ tall compared to Mr. Stark, and they both know it.

Wanting to change the subject as soon as possible, the mechanic picks up a screwdriver once again and leans over their project. “Whatever. I was just asking because I wanted to know if you’d be okay with him coming with us to the Museum on Wednesday.” He says, voice peppy. “James always spends his time in that art room, but he’s never been to the art museum before.”

“Huh. That’s awfully considerate of you.” _Like you’ve been thinking about him._

“Well, I’ve been spending a lot of time with him because of B.A.R.F and his arm. He never goes anywhere with other people, just sits on park benches and thinks. I figured that maybe he’d like to see something new.” Tony says nonchalantly.

Peter shrugs, deciding to let it go. Yeah, James is growing on them both. “You can invite him. I think that he’d like to get to see the art.”

Finally satisfied, the mechanic grins. “Great.”

* * *

Later, as Tony is working hard to keep James’ arm healthy so that he can fix it once the Soldier is comfortable enough to let him, Tony brings it up with the same nonchalant attitude he had Peter.

“Peter told me that you two’ve been talking about history.”

James nods, feeling the whirring of metal plates in his arm. They were able to get the arm out, but the wiring and attachments to his nerves weren’t gone just yet. “I lived through it all, but I don’t know much. It’s a little strange, but I suppose things being strange is nothin’ new. Anyway, the only thing we’ve talked about so far that I remember being there for was that I talked to a bartender about the BP Oil Spill.”

“You were in a bar talking about an oil spill?”

“Yeah. I think I was waiting for someone, but I don’t really know.”

"Hmm…well, I was thinking that you might want to come to the museum with us. We’re going to an Art one and a history one. Figured you might wanna learn something.”

James raises a brow. Oh. He hasn’t been _invited_ somewhere in…well, as long as his memories last him. “Oh. Well sure. I’d love to go to a museum. I haven’t been to one in years. Probably longer.”

Tony smiles. “I’ll have FRIDAY get you when we’re headed out, then.”

* * *

Sometimes, James wishes that he remembered sex. It seems like the only _useful_ memory he could have. Sure, remembering how to sign his name or dance might come in handy every once in a while, but sex seems to be something constantly brought up in this new generation. 

Everything on television is sex related. Movie nights with Peter are occasionally mortifying, because the teenager clearly thinks _nothing_ of the sex scenes, just scrolling on his phone and eating more popcorn, and James is sitting there trying not to either vomit or get hard as he watches some of the lewdest things he’s ever seen on a screen happen right before his eyes.

Peter treats it so casually! If Steve were here, he’d surely pass out. And…and James used to be the confident one who didn’t care about sex, who thought it wasn’t any big deal. Taking girls out was a Saturday night thing.

Now? Sure, he’s touched himself now that he’s in control of his body again, but now he is an old man! He gasps at things that a teenage boy laugh at!

Maybe if he remembered sex, he would be a little more accustomed to all of this frenzy. He would know what to picture when he touches himself beside generic hands over skin and high-pitched moans which he doesn’t know how he remembers. If he could just recall the things that made him feel like it was no big deal, then he would be able to handle it! But he doesn’t!

What happens if James gets into a situation like that? Will it all come back naturally, or will he fumble around like an amateur—like _Steve_ used to! He can’t do that! He’d die of embarrassment.

While logic tells him there’s no one here who would be interested in, because Miss Potts is scary and mean and there are no other girls, he still feels the need to fret over it. Especially when he’s around Tony, because he has now been informed that _gay sex_ is on television! It’s legal! And, according to one of these so-called “texts” which phones can get nowadays that James had seen on Peter’s phone, Tony Stark himself is _“flaming gay even if it’s just halfway – MJ”._

The thought absolutely haunts him. Tony seemed so normal! He _dated_ Miss Potts! But if he’s gay then that means he…he _kisses_ men. He _touches_ men! It’s unbelievable. Like, he can just do it out in the open! Peter is a child and Peter knows about it. The revelation brings back several uncomfortable feelings which he can distinctly remember pushing down all of his life. _Weirdness_.

James had let Tony touch his arm. Was Tony thinking about _touching_ James, then? 

It…ugh. He tries to forget about it when he sees Tony, but the subject always leaves him feeling uncomfortable when he goes to sleep at night. It leaves his mind an empty chasm, like he should remember something very important, and yet he doesn’t. 

He just…he can’t stop picturing it! It’s so strange; it makes him queasy, his stomach all tight. Tony kissing someone? Two…two _beards_ against one another? No, no. No, he has a stomach ache. Or two male bodies? That couldn’t be. Tony against the silk sheets, hair splayed out around his head, neck craning as his back arches, up into another man’s body? Up into James’?

No, no, no. No, that’s not James. It’s uncomfortable and it is new in all the worst sort of ways. It makes his body tense and trying to breathe deep doesn’t make it go away. And the worst part is that he can just vaguely remember these feelings as something familiar—something he may have dealt with before. He tries not to look into it.

If James could remember the women he’d been with, then he could just forget about finding this new aspect of Tony to be so fascinating. He could stop caring. He could slip back into the uncaring state that he’s sure he was in before! All that he has to do is start B.A.R.F, get his experiences back, and move on.

When he touches himself again, he tries to think of those stupid things on the television screen. They had interested him before he learned about Tony, yet now thoughts protrude into his mind and he starts to picture the wrong thing.

Women’s long, blonde hair falling over their shoulders becomes a tight, masculine hand wrapped into James’ locks, pulling tight on his scalp. No, no. Go away, that’s not what he’s trying to think about. A girl’s high-pitched moans, but they’re a little deeper, and a little deeper, and they’re coming from a certain mechanic, his eyes screwed shut and face in bliss.

No! Goddamn it. This Is all Tony’s fault. Why the hell does he have to get his weird sex life involved with James’? Of course, he didn’t. This “MJ” did.

The more often that he goes to sleep attempting to ignore the unsettled feeling in his gut, the more often it slips into his dreams. He almost cries in relief when they don’t _explicitly_ involve Tony. They could be anyone.

A man’s back against the headboard, pressure between their legs, a strong hand on James’ length, not letting him release, telling him to wait, telling him to be good, telling him that he’ll fuck him later if he can just hold off for another minute. So James doesn’t cum. He restrains himself, he twists his spine in discomfort, his breath becomes quick, but he can’t help it. He can’t help but to-

Wake up. 

He feels disgusting as he cleans himself off, nearly running into the bathroom and hopping into the shower, desperate to rinse of the _wrongness_ of it all. His body is warm, almost feverish, and his hands are shaking.

He had wanted to be good, but he hadn’t been able to. He’d cum anyway.

Why had he wanted to be good?

All he has to do is get his memories back.

* * *

But things don’t end up working out for James. Instead of images of pretty women with their clothes off, war memories are the first to come back once the B.A.R.F starts.

They leave him shaking, terrified, and ashamed—so ashamed. All the feelings pushed by that classic American Patriotism he’d faced wash over him like a tidal wave, crushing his lungs. 

He can forget about the sex, he can forget about the discomfort. It is a slow asphyxiation, but the memories are of bullets whizzing by his head are like a crack of lightening in his ears. 

_It’s an honor to fight, you’re fighting for freedom, what kind of man runs from battle? I have to take care of Rebecca, what kind of man leaves his sister to die? She won’t make it if I leave. She won’t make it if the Germans take us over, boy!_

Shame strangles him. Shame at the fear—shame for showing it. _Civilians just don’t get it. They don’t know the mud, the ringing in my ears, they don’t know the shells of the bodies which walk beside me. They don’t know me anymore. My sister won’t know me anymore._

The day the third war memory is shown, he doesn’t leave his room. It’s not intentional, but he is so deep in thought—in raging emotion—that he sits at his desk, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and stares out the window without taking in any of the views before him.

At dinner time, as Tony goes up to shower like he always does, Peter sits at the counter and looks around, the Soldier nowhere to be found. It’s unusual. 

On a normal day, James is there eating Macaroni, and Peter joins him, and they look over whatever homework the teen has out. But James is not here. Compelled by forces he can’t understand, Peter continues to look around for him.

“Did James already eat, FRIDAY?”

_“James has not come out of his room since his B.A.R.F Session at eleven a.m..”_

“Oh.” He glances around once again. “what happened during the Session? What’d he re-watch?”

_“Memories of his time during the Second World War.”_

Peter frowns. There’s not much that he can do to cheer him up about _war_. War sucks. What does Peter know about _war_? “So…he hasn’t eaten once?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking; he doesn’t know why he cares.

_“No. He normally eats dinner at 7:00. Usually, he eats Macaroni and Cheese from the Level 1 Kitchen, but has made no move to come downstairs, as far as I can tell.”_

“Oh. I can…I can bring him dinner.” He says as if he’s suggesting it more to himself than to FRIDAY. Would it be crazy to bring James food after he’s had a hard day? “He probably doesn’t feel like coming down here to be around people. I…I’ll just bring it up for him. Simple…”

A few minutes later, after double checking that James isn’t headed down to get dinner himself, Peter shows up outside the Soldier’s door with a bowl full of warm Mac n Cheese. Feeling dangerously stupid, he knocks twice, and nothing happens.

Should he have just stayed out of it? I’d James not eating because he can’t with his medication? Did he decide he doesn’t like Mac n cheese? Will he just not want someone butting in on him?

Peter’s not sure. When May was struggling after Ben died, Peter brought her dinner once. After that, she’d made a point of sticking to their schedule and trying to continue on as if nothing had happened. It seemed she was terrified that she was going to fail as a guardian—and was embarrassed that she’d ever let it get to the point of Peter taking care of _her_. Peter never held anything against her, and surely nothing about _feeling sad_. But James isn’t Peter’s guardian. How will he react?

Finally, the door opens and reveals James, looking the same as Peter had last seen him. He doesn’t look physically tired, but he does look emotionally drained--not like he had a breakdown (Peter knows what that looks like--red eyes and tangled hair and too straight posture once they try to move on)—but like he’d done nothing but sit and stare all day.

Maybe that’s how James breaks down.

“Hi, James.” Peter says, using the same voice that he does when he talks to Ned after the other boy’s failed an English test. “I thought I’d bring you some Mac ‘n cheese. I figured you probably don’t wanna be around a bunch of people, and your food’s down there by everyone.”

James’ reaction is delayed: a slow raise of an eyebrow and a blink of his eyes like he’s not sure he’s seeing correctly. “Oh. Yeah.” How does he respond to this? At HYDRA people brought him the injections which kept him alive, but they didn’t…they did it because he wasn’t allowed to do it himself. Why did Peter bring him food? And...heat it up for him?

He reaches forward to take the food from him, hands shaking from all the roused emotions he’d been dealing with all day. Wait...is it dinner already. “Didn’ realize it was that late. Sorry.”

Peter peeks up. “That’s okay! B.A.R.F can’t be easy to deal with, I get that. Well, I don’t really _get_ that, ‘cause...y’know...I’ve never done it before. But, uh, anyway. Yeah. It’s hard to deal with things.” Internally, Peter rolls his eyes at himself. He always has such nice things planned out in his head to say, yet they never come out that way! 

“Yeah.”

“You know, when I get anxious—not that it’s comparable to you, but just in general—I, uh, I recite things. It helps me focus on what’s real. I recite my class schedule and stuff.” 

James raises a brow. “Okay.” 

Peter smiles awkwardly, wondering if he should leave. 

What should James say? No one’s brought him food before, or...offered him advice. Is that what that was? Advice? That must’ve been why Peter just told him what he does when he’s scared. That’s must’ve been advice. But James doesn’t have a class schedule.

The closest thing he’s had to someone bringing him anything is the meals at Wakanda, but those weren’t brought to him directly. Not like this… sometimes FRIDAY has food _ordered_ for him. Is that the same? How does he react when she does threat? Oh, he says _thank you_. Because FRIDAY is nice when she does that. Is Peter being nice? James thinks so. 

“Uh, thank you. For the food.”

“Yeah. Of course. And if you need help with anything, with BARF or something, you can ask me. Not sure what I’ll be able to do, but I’m happy to try.”

James nods. Yes. He is...nice. Friendly, almost. Was he friendly before? He was so…teenager-y before. “I appreciate that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the top note for STORY WRITING UPDATE and IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO EDIT WRITING FOR ME!
> 
> Thank you all and sorry this is coming out two days late my schedule was crazy last week.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming holidays, present ideas, arm thoughts, and James is holding a baby on a bench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of my most favorite chapters ever are coming up.

The days seem to run by. He spends too much time staring at the wall, but has FRIDAY remind him of the _schedule_ he’s put together, consisting of doing art, swimming, taking baths, and running on the strange 4D “treadmill” in the gym. As he goes about his schedule, he mostly thinks of his memories and the future that he is apparently _mourning_ (as Peter put it).

Peter said he had to do the same thing when his Uncle Ben died—that he and his Aunt May had to adjust to the reality that there would be no retiring to Florida together, as May and Ben planned, and that there would be no graduation dinner with the three of them at the fancy restaurant ten blocks away. Peter said he had to mourn.

Peter doesn’t bring him Mac n cheese again, because James remembers all on his own when Dinner is (though he has FRIDAY to remind him just in case), so he eats his meals with Peter in the kitchen, reading through the history textbook out loud.

Eventually, Peter decides that it’s a ritual they _must_ take part in and brings his book every time he comes to Tony’s.

James looks forward to dinners with Peter.

The sessions with Tony don’t go _well_ , per se, because James finds himself dreading each and every one, but nothing detrimental happens in the first weeks. He relives things, changes little bits that don’t seem to make it any better, but receives praise from Tony afterwards. 

After a while, Tony’s reassurances begin to help.

The mechanic says that things are going to get worse before they’ll get better. James doesn’t like the sound of that, but it seems honest. Tony also says, though, that things _will_ get better. James doesn’t think that Tony tells him that just to make him feel better—he doesn’t think that Tony would lie to him.

But eventually, _holidays_ begin to close in. James is not looking forward to them. He doesn’t even know that they’re coming up until FRIDAY shows him a calendar on which she has put all of his activities.

Peter won’t be here on Christmas, but he and May are coming over for Thanksgiving; as will Ms. Potts and a man named Colonel Rhodes, who James has heard of, but he has never met. That means that the dinners probably won’t be spent with Peter and James going over history together. He tries not to let his apprehension show, however, because Peter gushes to him about how excited he is for Christmas. “This year I got Aunt May this watch that she’s been looking at for, like, ten years! She’ll be literally so excited!” He exclaims one night at dinner. “When she opens it she’s totally gonna cry.”

“Is that good?” James asks. He can’t remember crying at a present before—only being excited at them. He can only remember that feeling.

“That’s the goal. If my presents don’t make her cry, I’ve failed.”

James thinks that’s weird, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, later that night, he asks FRIDAY, “should I get Peter and Tony something?”

The AI isn’t sure how to offer advice on this. Generally, her Boss insists that he has everything material that he might need, but the year has been a lonely one for him. It might be good for his friends to demonstrate their love for him in a tangible way. So, she tells him just that.

“He _does_ have money, just like Howard.” James says. “What would I even get him?”

Same as how he deals with any problem he encounters, James makes a list. 

What does Tony Stark Like?

  * Peter
  * Science?
  * DUM-E
  * Potts (he cringes as he writes this)
  * Glass houses
  * Not HYDRA
  * men?



What does Peter like?

  * History
  * Stark
  * Science
  * Aunt May
  * Food
  * Popcorn
  * Talking too loudly



What’s the thing that Peter taught him? _Internet_ he scrawls down. _Internet games._ He can buy Peter an internet game—one of those that the news people say lead to violence. Peter is already a superhero and has already faced off against Steve in battle. They’re probably past violence.

“FRIDAY, can you look up internet games that are popular?”

_“Yes. Would you like to see PC games, Game-console games or other?”_

Damn it, he has no idea what he’s going to do. “Uh…I don’t know. You know what, never mind. I…I’ll think about it later.” He sighs. “When’s my appointment with Tony?”

“In two hours.” 

James sighs. He’s not looking forward to the appointment. Well, that’s not true. He’s looking forward to seeing Tony, but he’s not looking forward to the immediate image of men kissing that will pop into his head when he sees tony—a residual side effect of that _text_ he’d seen on Peter’s phone. 

He’s beginning to convince himself that the text means something else, anyway. It must, right? _“Tony stark is still flaming gay even if it’s just halfway – MJ”._ What on Earth does halfway mean? And what is an MJ? Is it something sexual? It could be something totally normal, and it’s just HYDRA’s influence messing with his brain making him assume the most extreme things. Tony had dated Miss Potts!

James doesn’t like thinking about that, either. A stupid feeling settles in his stomach when he tries to picture Tony with Miss Potts. It just doesn’t seem right.

Snapping himself out of his destructive thoughts, James pushes up his sleeves and shakes his head, deciding that he’ll head down to the lab early, anyway.

* * *

“I don’t know why I like James more each time that I see him getting along with Peter.” Tony tells Maria, the one person which he can trust but still remain casual friends with. She’s heard all about this man staying with Tony and in her opinion, he talks about James and his arm too much for this to be nothing more than a science crush.

He twirls around in his chair absentmindedly, tossing a screwdriver up in the air and catching it as it falls. The woman merely snorts, looking down at him from the screen she was displayed in, halfway around the world but making time to video chat with him. “Yeah, I don’t think it’s any secret why you think that it’s so sweet for James to father Peter like that.”

“He’s not _fathering_ him. More like…recently-discovered-and-mentally-unstable uncle-ing him.”

“Oh, come on! It’s like when you see a guy at a park who’s cute, but you don’t really glance at him twice. But then you see him again and he has a baby with him. He was hot without the baby, but with the baby he presents himself a realistic, human option for you! _That’s_ when you look!”

He barks with laughter. “If I saw him on a bench at a park, I’d think he’s homeless.”

“But you see him sitting on your couch at home _with a baby_ and suddenly he’s seeming a whole lot cuter, isn’t he?”

“Whatever.” Tony chuckles. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, anyway. I have to-“

He’s cut off by FRIDAY, who was intently listening in on their conversation, and disappointed that she had to interrupt. _“Boss, James has asked me to see if it is alright that he come into the lab early before his appointment with you.”_

Over the call, Hill perks up. “Is that him? Send a picture, I want to see if he can rock the hot and homeless look.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony rushes to clean up his workstation, tossing things to the side.  
“FRIDAY, end call and tell James he can come in. Bye, Maria.”

Despite himself, Tony straightens out his shirt and grabs the nearest object so it can look like he was doing something other than gossiping with his friend. He’s begun to get nervous every time that James stumbles into a room. Just…a sort of jittery excitement, is all. It won’t get in the way of their science, but it makes Tony laugh too hard at James’ shitty attempted jokes.

Thankfully, James is beyond socially awkward and doesn’t notice at all.

The door opens, swift and silent just like everything else in the Compound, and Tony doesn’t turn around to face him, instead throwing a “hey” over his shoulder and continuing to stare at the meaningless blueprints in front of him.

“Hi.” James says, standing with his hands in his pockets, so his shoulders are in a constant shrug. “What’re you working on?”

“Huh? Oh, um,” Tony glances at the top of the blueprints. “Plumbing for the Compound…” his voice falters.

"You take care of the plumbing here?” Isn’t that a little…below him? Tony always brags about being the engineer of his millions of highly-advanced pieces of technology build into the Compound.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Whatever. Uh, what do you need?” He asks, swiping the prints away and trying to act like it didn’t happen.

James shifts in his boots, pulling the sleeves of his shirt past his hands. “I was just wondering if you’d gotten any information from my arm that could help us stop HYDRA.” He says. “I know I’m not allowed to do anything here, ex-assassin ‘n all,” he didn’t like mentioning that part of his past––it didn’t quite feel like the past yet. “but I thought maybe I could contribute that, at least.”

“Oh.” _Do_ not _sound disappointed_ , Tony reminds himself. It’s not like James would come down here just to check on him, anyway. “I’m still looking. So far, there’s a lot of wiring that I have to get through.” His voice falters, and they’re silent for a moment. “James…did you want your arm out because you thought it…because you thought that you owed it to someone? To stop HYDRA?” He doesn’t want to say _to me_ , but that is the intent.

Tony had spent many a night sitting up in bed, wondering what was going on in James’ mind. Did James need the arm out because he didn’t want Tony to see the constant reminder of his parents’ death? Did James want to take it out because it scared people, because Peter stared at it? Was it at all possible that this decision was born from the arm’s effect on other people, or was it truly for his own sake? It didn’t seem like James did anything just for himself.

The Super Soldier looks taken aback. “No. I wanted it out.” He deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gosh, that’s too sensitive a topic, apparently. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Right. I just wanted to make sure.”

James squirms. “I didn’t make it for the wrong reasons.”’

“I know. I’m sorry I asked.”

This is weird. Quiet fills the air and James looks around for something to take his attention off of what’s happening. He…he has so many things that he wants to say. Like, he doesn’t _want_ this to be strange. He doesn’t like that he gets defensive about choices, but it just matters so much to him! He has to make his choices and he doesn’t need anyone doubting him. He doesn’t need any trouble, he only needs people who are going to support him.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you. I…I get defensive because of my arm. I just wanted it out. There’s no deeper meaning there.” James sighs. “But ‘course I’d want to help take down HYDRA. I beat punching bags all day, eat noodles. I’m not really doing much.”

Butterflies flutter in Tony’s stomach, and he struggles to keep a straight face. People rarely apologize to him. He raises his brow. “James, I think that you even _being here_ is doing a lot to help. You’re the ultimate rebellion against HYDRA, the one who lived.” Tony cringes. Okay, how about something a little less morbid? “You said no to violence, remember? You looked at Steve shoving you into conflict and even after everything you went through, you were able to see that things could be better.”

“I don’t know…I wish I could do more.”

Tony considered this. James was a man of many talents, all of which had been put to evil use. He needed an organization which would teach him to use them for protection of the innocent, not prosecution. Good thing Tony had already talked to his best friend about it. “Well, Rhodey’s coming for Thanksgiving and he’s bringing papers about the Avengers Initiative for you to look over. If, in the future when you’re ready, you want to join, I think they’ll consider letting you.”

“Who’s 'they'?”

“The government.”

James frowns. “Isn’t it _your_ group? You made it, right?”

“No. Fury did. But anyway, if I put in a good word they’ll let you in. You’re probably gonna have to get some other job experiences––work a couple black ops missions or something, but after that I’ll talk you up and you can join.”

“You’ll really put in a good word? I don’t think anyone’s said a good word about me in a while.”

“The same could be said for me.” A little _bling_ sounds from behind Tony, where the suits are standing at his attention. He turns around in a flash, eager for any excuse to stop having such direct conversation.

“Are you doing anything with the suits?”

James likes to come down to the Lab and watch Tony work on the suits. It’s just like when Tony works on his arm, but it’s impersonal, so it gives him an opportunity to get comfortable with the movements of the mechanics while he’s not the subject of them. It brings him a little closer to the _science_ that’s so hard to understand.

“Actually, no. I’ve been finishing War Machine upgrades. Rhodey’s been walking around with an outdated model, and I can’t have that.”

Ah, yes. That strange need that (according to Peter) Tony has to give incredible gifts to his friends…so he and Rhodes must be close if the gift is a whole suit of armor. A weird sense of protectiveness settles in his chest. Is Rhodes good to Tony, or is he like Steve? Tony said he’s only around trustworthy people now, but how can James be sure of it?

What if this Rhodes is a bad person? What if he’s using Tony so that he can get better upgrades? James…he can’t let that happen. Tony’s been so sweet to him; the least that James can do is protect him. Protect the shorter, more obnoxious man…James doesn’t want him to get hurt.

“I heard Colonel Rhodes is coming for thanksgiving.” He says, trying to make sure that Tony can’t tell he cares. “Are you two close, then?”

“Oh, yeah. He and I met in college. He’s my best friend.”

Oh, friend. _Close_. Like those _men_ Tony had supposedly been with? According to the internet, Tony never settles down, he just stays _friends_. Was Tony _with_ Rhodes?

No, no. That image is so wrong. He shoves it out of his mind.

"Well that’s good.”

“I think that you two’ll get along.” Tony chirps. “Oh! Also, I wanted to run something by you. Real quick. Just a hypothetical.”

His voice is too high, too optimistic, James notes. Tony is trying to keep him calm because something’s wrong. “What is it?” James asks, his chest already tightening up in anxiety. “Is it about B.A.R.F? I don’t have to stop, do I?”

“Oh, no. No, you don’t have to worry about anything. I just wanted to offer something about it.” Tony tells him, taking a seat and inviting James to join. “I’ve been studying the arm and I’ve learned a lot from it.”

The Soldier nods. Okay, that’s not so bad. He’d given Tony permission to do that. “Okay.”

“And I was just taking notes on all the flaws of it. The thing is pretty good except that it wasn’t designed for comfort or, in my opinion, functionality. It could’ve been made to be like a real, human arm, but it wasn’t.” The mechanic looks him in the eye, trying to gauge his reaction. “And, well, before I propose anything, I just want you to know that I fully respect your decision to have the arm out, and what you want is my top priority here.”

James full-on frowns. “…I don’t want that arm in me.”

“I was thinking that I could make my own arm for you. Completely new from the HYDRA one. This would be comfortable and sleek and would feel just like a regular arm. I was just thinking that you don’t deserve to have any part of HYDRA machine left in you, and you deserve to have your own arm. A _real_ arm that would be yours.”

Oh. Well, it’s a metal arm. James doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like the metal hanging off his shoulder, he doesn’t like the cold against his skin. “I didn’t like having a metal arm in me last time. I don’t think I’ll like it again.”

Tony nods. “Yes. But if I were to make one—and this is just me making sure you know all your options here, not me trying to force you into this—but it would weigh the same as your skin arm, and it would be perfectly comfortable. I could make the artificial nerves just the same as the ones in real arms. It’d be like having a flesh arm again. No star on the side, no stupid chunky metal.”

He watches James’ face intently. Is this going to be out of the question, or will he consider it? And will James only consider this for the wrong reasons? Tony had already made his plans for the arm, he could have it done soon if James says yes. If James says no, those plans will mostly go to waste.

The Super Soldier finds himself staring at the floor. Tony…Tony wants to make an arm for him. James doesn’t love the idea of it, or of any metal arm. Metal arms aren’t nice, he knows that, and so far, he has done fine re-learning how to do things with one arm. He knows that Tony likes to build things for his friends. Tony said that they were friends.

Peter’s suit is made by Tony, and Clint’s arrows were too. Clint burnt them. Had Tony just offered those as an _option_ like this? And Clint had destroyed them after saying yes to that option? And…and the others had things made by Tony… They were mean to Tony then too, when he was being sweet like this. Why is Tony offering to make James things if so far Peter is the only one who hasn’t been mean after Tony made him something?

….Does Tony trust James to not be mean to him after he has a new arm?

Is James one of those trustworthy people that Tony lets be around him?

Tony bites his lip, taking James’ silence as nothing positive. “I just wanted to suggest that. For you to think about. You don’t have to decide anything if you don’t want to, I just wanted you to know that it could be an option, if you wanted it to be.”

“I…why? Why are you offering me this?”

Surprised, Tony leans back. Why _is_ he doing this? He…he made the designs because he’s impulsive, and he’s offering because he doesn’t want the designs to go to waste, but Tony knows James’ real question: _why do you think I deserve this?_

“Well, you deserve an arm. One better than that piece of shit HYDRA gave you. No offense. I know it was your arm.”

James snorts. “Again, I don’t really feel anything for the arm. I…You made things for Steve and Clint. Because they were your friends. But they…they mistreated you, didn’t they? They didn’t turn out to be trustworthy people. So why keep offering to make things for friends?”

Tony starts. Well, that’s far too valid a point to have come out of James’ mouth. Isn’t he supposed to be all emotionally damaged and weird? “Well,” he says, nearly sounding petty, “ _yes_ , they were dicks about it. But like I said, I have to move on from that. I made a Peter a suit and he’s turned out to be nothing but trustworthy.”

“You think I’m trustworthy? When…when there’s a chance I could be used against you as a weapon again?”

"Wh…you’re not a weapon.”

“I kind of am.” He huffs, tangling his hands together. “Spent the last seventy years bein’ used as a weapon.”

Yes, he had, but that doesn’t mean he _is_ a weapon, it means that HYDRA believed he was. “You’re not a weapon, even if HYDRA tried to use you as one. I’m going to help you so that HYDRA will never have the chance to use you again. Part of helping you is getting you a real arm. You _deserve_ that arm.”

Those stupid, annoying tears sting James’ eyes. He hasn’t been told that he deserves something good as long as he remembers. He takes a gasping breath, trying to stop the water from getting worse. They’re just gathering, just a little show of emotion. He’s not crying, just emotional. “What about your parents?”

Tony averts his eyes. “You were a victim too.”

James sniffs. “That’s what Steve says.”

“If those people in Afghanistan had taken apart my mind, I would’ve ended up building weapons for them. Do you think I would have deserved for no one to trust me ever again if those weapons had killed people—if I had killed them?”

Oh, now would _not_ be an appropriate time to roll his eyes, but James wants to. He knows this metaphor. No _,_ it wouldn’t be Tony’s fault. “No.” He pouts.

“Then you need to give yourself that same courtesy.” Tony tells him, voice quiet. “James, I know our situations are different, but when someone’s forced to do something, they’re a victim. No matter what.”

Damn it, that’s a point that James doesn’t like applying to himself. “Okay.” He breathes. _1 2 3 4…_ “I…I’m not so sure you’d be able to make a _real_ arm, though. And I wouldn’t want one if it’d feel like it’s just hanging off my body.”

Tony nods eagerly. “Of course. I could show you some plans for it and you can see if you’d like it. I think that you will.”

Another sniffle sounds through the room. “Alright. I guess having a real arm would be nice. I wouldn’t want it right away, though. I’ve gotta adjust to not having one, like lettin’ myself breathe.”

"Oh, yeah. Your shoulder’s not ready for a new arm, yet. I just wanted to show you the plans, see if you’d be interested.”

James runs his hand over his eyes, trying to get the redness to leave his face. He nods. “That sounds kinda nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up soon:
> 
> James meets Rhodes, and Rhodes thinks "oh no"  
> They go to a museum  
> And we have some James hitting a punching bag action
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER IS OVER 2X AS LONG


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to the museum, checking in on James’ sister, Rhodey comes.
> 
> LONG CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tenses change throughout this chapter and I know it’s annoying, but I’m not going to be able to change it given my schedule. 
> 
> Realized I don’t love having such short chapters in this story, so I combined what would’ve been three to make this one. And it’s still not the longest one in this book, I don’t think. THE LAST SCENE IS MY FAVORITE IN THIS WHOLE BOOK : )
> 
> Also, they’re going to start being pushed together soon! The slow burn will soon burn

This was getting tiring. Truly, James was tired of being messed up. He was tired of not knowing about his past, not understanding his present. He wanted to feel. He wanted to feel so deeply and strongly that he felt his insides melt. He wanted to laugh so hard that his stomach hurt and his eyes watered. He was tired of feeling empty. B.A.R.F made him feel empty, made him feel confused. He didn’t want that anymore.

And when he walked over to the limousine they were taking to the museum, he could only hope that today would help him.

Online, people talked about _feeling_ their art. Having an intense and personal connection to the paint they put on canvas, to the chairs they carved and the pictures they drew. He would kill to feel something like that. He would kill to now what it was that made him put things on paper, made him put things on canvas. He made art purely because he needed to do something, because his brain told him to put a color here and a color there.

But if he could feel his art––if he could actually experience what all the artists talk about, maybe he could get better. Maybe he could finally be free of his confusion.

He just needed to understand. He needed to make sense of what he wanted for his arm, what he wanted for his future. And maybe, just maybe, art would have the answers.

“You’re deep in thought there, buddy,” Tony chuckled. “You worried about going to a museum? I’m sure there’ll be some stuff there you recognize, bein’ so old.”

“I mostly liked tech, not art.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Stevie was the one who kept up with all the artists. I liked going to see the future. The Stark Expo.”

Peter’s eyes lit up. “You saw the Stark Expo in the forties? Woah, was it awesome? Those were like the very first ones.”

“It was very awesome.”

“We should go to this year’s. There’s this crepe stand that MJ and I went to, and it was so good.” Currently, the teenager was looking around the limousine and pressing various buttons to see what they did, talking on without really thinking about any of it. “Oh, and we should go to a carnival! You’ve missed all the best rollercoasters.”

Tony raised a brow. “You two planning a road trip?” He was sitting comfortably, back facing where Happy was in the front seat. James was adjacent to him, and very glad for the room between them. If he were any closer, he’d be able to hear Tony’s heartbeat, and that was always very distracting.

“No, but I was just thinking about all the cool stuff that he didn’t get to do. We gotta do it! And Stark Expo’s just the start, Mr. Stark.” The teenager beamed. “Not all of us get front row tickets.”

“Well it doesn’t start for another month or so. You can go be onstage with me for the next round of suits I display. We can show ‘em your new one.”

“I’m getting a new one?!”

“Yep. And when James here gets the yes from all the higher-ups, we can make him a bunch of new stuff to show off too.”

With that, he stepped out of the car, and to James’ surprise, cameras start flashing.

* * *

Going into the museum just further confirms how rich Tony Stark is. Instead of getting in line to get tickets and listening to screaming children like all of the average people outside the building, the head of the museum board greets them at the entrance and brings them to the back parking lot where they go in immediately; no wait required.

James can only stare as Tony flashes around that award-winning smile to get what he wants, suggesting that he, James, and Peter be left to their own devices as they look around. The head of the board gladly reassures him that they will have a wonderful private visit today, and that the board would like to _give their thanks_ for Tony’s donation.

Has money always gone this far?

Finally, they’re in. He looks around, trying to find something which he might _feel_ things for; but as he stares at the first painting, he’s not sure today’s going to be the day to get his answers.

It’s a painting screaming of Catholic influence, he recognizes, with little pale baby angels flying around the mountains. He doesn’t even feel a bit of emotion, which he logically should, considering that he grew up with the religion. Nothing.

There must be someway else that he can feel the art.

Tony says that he mostly prefers Spanish and African art, so James looks forward to finding out if that’s what he’ll like too. He can’t say that he’s seen much African anything, except for being in Wakanda. Even in the heart of New York growing up, he was surrounded by mostly white immigrants, and most of HYDRA’s individual targets were white. Not that he got to talk to them much…

“I think that you’ll like it.” Tony tells him as they trail through the different halls. “What kind of art is your favorite? Do you know?”

“I’m not sure. Seeing things on the Internet is different than here in a museum, so I’m excited to be here. I’ve only seen the art inside the Compound so far.” James murmurs. Sometimes there are statues in the park that he looks at, but he never really sees them as art, just something that’s been there for as long as he can remember.

Moving throughout the museum is a little awkward. James is always ready to be done looking at something before the others are, so he just shuffles his feet and tries to stay quiet while they look. Even walking is a little chunky for him. He and Tony travel in-line, and James can’t help but to think that they’re standing close enough that he could reach out and grab Tony’s hand. He’s not sure why he gets that urge.

For the next hour or so they tour different rooms filled with marble statues that look soft as silk and tall portraits of different religions’ gods. And when he finally does feel something, it’s at the cold-white statues in the room of what appears to be Greek art. And even though he’s accomplished his goal so far––to feel something for art––it’s not what he wanted.

He feels uncomfortable.

The people look _so_ real; it’s astonishing, yes. But when he looks into their solid, white eyes, he just wants to look away. Vacant and lifeless… standing to be stared at, not a person at all… That was what HYDRA made him. Either a showpiece or a tool… He can still feel the red band they wrapped around his skin bicep, before they put his metal arm in, the silvery logo etched into the fabric. He can almost see it stretched around that white marble. 

All he can do is walk away before the familiar empty feeling in his chest returns.

In the next room, just as vast and echoey as the others, they stop to view another portrait, this one different from the last ones, as the frame is simple and gray rather than shining gold and intricately carved.

The painting is taller than it is wide, filled with a background of twisting skies in brilliant oil paint. In the center of it stands a man with a silky robe on, exposing bits of his chest, shining with strange sorts of tattoos. His eyes are deep-set and narrowed, and his hair dark tight curls, spilling over the sides of his head. It is an attention-grabbing piece, the first one that each of them choose to go to. With this piece, James feels sunlight on his skin. It feels like summer, like Wakanda. 

Staring up at the painting for a long time, the teenager finally takes a step back, puts a piece of licorice in his mouth, and gives the least-emotionally comment James has heard all day. “He’s hot.” Peter chimes, staring up at the work and feeling nothing but the wish that the man were real.

The teen isn’t really much for appreciating art, apparently.

Tony scoffs. “What? _That’s_ your reaction to seeing one of the greatest paintings of all time?”

“Are you saying he’s _not_ hot?”

“Should’ve expected this when bringing a teenager to a museum to _learn_.” The mechanic says to James, rolling his eyes.

Curious, the Super Soldier stares at the painting, wondering if this man is indeed _hot_. Does Tony think that this man is attractive, he asks himself, trying to gauge a reaction. Never before has Tony called anyone hot. What does _hot_ mean to him?

The mechanic peers up at the painting for longer than Peter does, inspecting it as a whole and then paying attention to the smaller details after. Does that mean that Tony thinks this man is more than _hot_? Are those thick lips and strong eyes attractive to him? This man doesn’t look a whole lot like James. He has deep skin and a wide face. James is the opposite.

If Tony thinks that this man is attractive, but the man is so different from James, then would Tony not find James attractive?

“How about we go see the Monet exhibit?” Tony, twisting his head around to see the sign leading where he wants to go. “Monet’s always been my favorite.”

On their way out, James glances at the one-armed statues, different from the ones in the Greek exhibit. They’re the same in that they’re dead and frozen in time, but something is different this time. They’re copper. Bright and warm… like Wakanda, not like HYDRA.

He doesn’t notice when everyone keeps walking. He doesn’t care if they’re all headed somewhere else and he should be careful not to be left behind. Instead, he takes a few steps forward and looks closer. These are African statues, and he can tell the difference. He can tell the difference because they feel like _movement_. The are warmed under the museum light, they are in poses mid-action, second before screaming out like real people.

He tilts his head to the side. And they don’t have arms.

Back when they were made, James knows the statues were considered beautiful even though they just had little stumps for arms, like all the veterans from the war who told their horror stories to little Bucky Barnes in the pub. But the people in pubs weren’t considered beautiful.

Why? Why didn’t people pity the statues, like people pity James as he walks around without an arm now? Like children stared at him from other booths when Peter took him to _Panera_? Why were they considered beautiful when he got judged? 

Is it art if the arms are gone on purpose, they are artful and unique, but they’re just a sad 8:00 news story if they were lost in an accident? Or is the rest of James’ body not enough to make up for it, while the statues are beautiful because they had chests like that, unscarred and clean?

Tony watches James observe the statues with a muted sort of curiosity. It seems that he’d be intruding to comment on how the Super Soldier is clearly inspecting the clean-cut where an arm should be on the art. “It’s amazing, don’t you think?” Tony says quietly. “I don’t know how they manage to make stone look like skin.”

It’s like James didn’t hear a thing. “They don’t have arms.”

“No.” Tony states.

It takes the other man a moment to respond, still taking in the view. “I don’t have an arm.” He points out.

“That’s true.”

The Super Soldier looks down, furrowing his brow. Finally, his attention was broken. “…they don’t have arms, so… so they can’t do things. They’re limited. But these statues are warmer than the ones with arms. They’re…they’re safer. If they can’t do anything, then no one can make them do anything.” He whispers, and blinks a few times. His trance is broken, and he shakes his head to look over at Tony. “I… I like the statues without arms. And they must be really good if they’re in a museum, but… I think I’d like two arms. Two real arms. Not stone, not metal… I don’t remember my real arm, but I miss it. Is that possible?”

“It’s alright to want an arm, even if you’re okay without one, like the statues.”

James shakes his head. “I want an arm, because then no one would stare at me. No one would know what I’ve been through just by lookin’ at me. But… I don’t _want_ to _want_ an arm for that reason. I should want it for reasons that don’t have to do with anyone else. I shouldn’t care what they think, but I do. Because getting stared at sucks. I guess…I’ve been gettin’ stared at all day walkin’ around the city without an arm, and yet these things get put in a museum for it. They get called beautiful for not having arms, and I get stared at. Seems crazy...”

An unreasonable, crazy, cheesy thing runs through Tony’s head: _I think that you’re beautiful with or without it._ He wants to tell James that it’s normal for society to influence him, but that he’s handsome and beautiful anyway. But he doesn’t get the chance. Before he can, James is shaking the thought away and walking towards the next part, trying hard not to think about the cold air where his limb should be, if it weren’t for HYDRA.

In the end, it’s the next exhibit which makes him realize what he’s going to get Tony for Christmas. As he stares into the canvas of a Monet painting, James understands how this masterpiece was created. Little bits of color from a man who had mastered the placement of color a canvas. They formed water lilies. They were little dots, but they made something. Little things all put together to create something bigger… Just like that. It doesn’t have to be realistic; it doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s just like that.

And, even though he knows it’s a terribly arrogant feeling, he thinks to himself, _I could do that._

But it takes a while. Once they are back at the Compound, he goes straight to the Art room, which looks much less abandoned than it used to, and gets to work. He starts out with too big a canvas, and then moves to a smaller one, because he knows that he’s not going to have time to do something large.

Then, roughly, he sketches out what he thinks might be an acceptable drawing of Iron Man. It’s the first time he’s worked with the color Red since that first day here, and for once, he isn’t scared of it. It’s not HYDRA’s red, it’s Tony’s.

* * *

“Pepper, I can’t think of anything that would fuck up my schedule worse than this. Do you _really_ need me to go there? There isn’t anything you can do about it?”

Through the phone, Pepper sighs and speaks up louder, “you have to come, Tony. We need you here. The company needs you here.”

With a sigh––one that was greatly downplayed, because if Tony were honest with himself he’d acknowledge that this was the very worst case scenario ever––he hangs up the phone. “Fuck!” James _just_ gave him the yes on creating an arm!

In a few weeks, Tony might have to go on a business trip. A _business trip._ Really! Him! He’s busy with Iron Man suits and the Expo and the ex-assassin living in his house, and yet he has to make it to a fucking board meeting. It throws _everything_ off. His whole schedule is completely ruined if they can’t make this work without him hauling ass over to Malibu!

In a couple weeks or so, James’ prototype arm will be done. Immediately Tony’s going to have him try it on and use it, but only because Tony will be there himself if anything goes wrong! If Tony has to leave two days after James gets the arm, then the Soldier will be all alone for it! James can’t be alone!

Sitting in his lab, groaning into his hands, Tony shakes his head. “Ugh! FRIDAY!” He calls, getting shakily to his feet so that he can finally go to bed instead of worrying about things that are out of his control.

_“Yes, Boss?”_

“God…I hate this.” He sighs. “If I have to take James with me to New York, how much stuff do you think he’d need to bring with him? I have to have stuff shipped out now if we’re just gonna get him clothes for his room there instead of bringing some from here.”

The elevator moves up, knowing that he’ll want to walk around for a minute before heading straight to his room. _“James has four items of importance to him: his black sweatshirt, a painting of his, and his Density Experiment paper. I believe that James would not feel the need to bring anything else with him.”_

Tony steps out. “Density Experiment?”

_“James tried his very first scientific experiment because he wished to gain a better understanding of science so that he may bond with you and Peter.”_

He stops in his tracks, just a hall down from the gym. “He…he did that so he’d know what we were talking about? He wanted to…to bond?”

_Yes._ ”

Tony makes himself keep walking. _One foot in front of the other, keep moving because this news doesn’t affect you. It doesn’t make you want to cry; it doesn’t make your heart ache for him. It doesn’t make you want to go run into his arms._ Well, his arm.

"How’d he do an experiment if he wasn’t in the lab? He didn’t manage to get down there without me finding out, did he?” The designs for James’ arm are down there and the arm itself is going to be his Christmas present. He can’t have James seeing them.

Also, all of Tony’s billion-dollar inventions are lying around and could be stolen, but whatever.

Oh, oh, oh, oh. Tony is feeling those urges again. He’s feeling those _I think that you’re beautiful with or without it_ urges. The urge to say something comforting but way out of line and overly emotional! All over again he is going to say something a little too gay and get himself beat up in a locker room like a bad 80’s movie.

No, no, no. He’d learned to keep his mouth shut a long time ago. At least, around people who weren’t afraid to hit him because he’s rich.

If anything, James would only not want to hit him because the man appears to be a pacifist.

Or, before now he did _._

Because as Tony stands outside the glass doors of the gym, he watches the man in front of a punching bag, successfully destroying it with just one fist.

The Super Soldier is clearly just that: an incredible source of power, an angry fighter who can take anyone down. James beats over the punching bag like the thing had offended him, holes appearing in the fabric which had withheld Steve’s abuse for years. The ring on his finger, a cheap thing that Peter had given him as an early Christmas present because the teen wouldn’t be there on the real day––James was going to give his to Peter after the holiday because oil paint needs to dry­­––rips the bag apart by the seams, metal hitting it with such force that it flies off the chain and rams into the wall behind it.

The sight of this should probably terrify the mechanic, but it doesn’t. He doesn’t look at James and see _the man who killed my parents._ He sees James, who is sad and emotional and is going to get even more muscle in his real arm, so the robot one is going to end up being mismatching. Damn, Tony should’ve considered that in his work…

Panting, James just stares at the bag, glad that the wall isn’t dented but feeling no remorse for sending it soaring through the air. He walks to the next bag and begins again, the digital clock on the wall glowing 4:13 behind him.

“Um,” Tony announces himself, fully aware that he might startle James into making him the next punching bag, “it’s a little late.”

James’ head shoots up. “Oh. Yeah, I guess.” Immediately, he shrugs his shoulders to make himself smaller. Tony was so small over in the doorway, hands in his pockets. He shouldn’t see James doing _violent_ things. “You’re up too, though. Can’t sleep?” He murmurs.

"My plans just got all scrambled. I was on the phone with Pepper for, like, three hours talking about it all.”

He nods. “Sounds rough.”

Tony bites his lip. Yep. Having to fly to Malibu on a private jet. It’s a real struggle. Meanwhile, James is struggling with being a prisoner of war for a majority of his life…yikes. How can Tony forget that?

James sighs. “That sounded more sarcastic than I meant it to.”

“It’s fine. You got a point, anyway. My problems are pretty good problems.”

“Are you going to have to miss Thanksgiving?”

“No; but after. It’s…I’m trying to figure out how it’s going to work with B.A.R.F and your arm. I actually wanted to see if you might want to come with me to Malibu. I’ll be there for work for a week, but you could think of it as a vacation. Get used to B.A.R.F, we wouldn’t take Peter, but other than that it’d be the usual.”

James grins tiredly. “I don’t think Peter’ll be too happy to hear that.”

“Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you want to come with me? ‘M not gonna force you to go if you don’t want to.” Tony looks down, quiet. James is _very_ distracting. His tank top is black and skin-tight, all of his muscles exposed and tense… But that isn’t what he’s supposed to focus on.

“Oh. No, I’d like that. Would they let me? Those SWORD agents don’t really like me goin’ places.” There are also other things to consider, but he doesn’t want to think about that now. The idea of going to a whole new place makes him want to shuffle his feet and rewrap his hands… what if it isn’t a good idea?

Tony chuckles. “SHIELD can stick it up their asses. They don’t even know what they’re talking about anymore with you.” He says confidently, even though he’s just witnessed the raw strength that James possesses––the very reason they’re so wary about him. He’s entirely sure that James won’t ever want to use it on someone innocent. “Besides, the weather’s nicer up in Malibu. I’ll be able to enjoy it if I know that you’re going to be there with me. Y’know, ‘cause of your arm.” Not because he greatly enjoyed James’ company.

The Super Soldier wipes his brow and Tony tries not to let his heartbeat elevate. “I think that’d be nice, if you can convince ‘em. It’s been a while since ‘ve gotten some real sunshine.”

“Malibu’s certainly the place for that. And I can introduce you to some celebrities.” Tony chuckles. “Maybe you’ll meet some hot girls there. That’s what everyone goes to Malibu for, anyway.”

James gives him a strange look, but it only flashes for a second, and then he just laughs along. “Maybe.” And goes back to the bag. “I do worry, though. What if the agent people are right and I can’t handle it? This place is good, my therapist says, because I have a schedule here. Like an institution for crazy people. But I won’t have that in Malibu.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“I kind of am.”

Tony shakes his head. “Just because you talk to a therapist and need a schedule doesn’t mean you’re going crazy. I have both those things and I’m perfectly normal. Well, a little better than normal, if you ask me.”

Despite himself, James grins. “Will there be another FRIDAY at the other house? She helps me keep my schedule.”

“She’s installed there too.”

“Then I’ll go. I think it’ll be good.” He turns back to the bag in front of him. As soon as his mind is made up and he’s satisfied with his decision, his mind moves on from thinking about this invitation. He doesn’t want to get his hopes of. It’s back onto his other problems. Problems that mostly revolve around him _loving_ that Tony said he isn’t crazy. James doesn’t believe it one bit, but it’s nice to hear.

Tony just watches, not really wanting to leave anyway. He walks over towards a bench, shoes echoing as he goes, and sits down with a smug smile, observing the man beat on the bag. It certainly is a strange sight: someone with just one arm manage to completely decimate an indestructible bag.

“What’s on your mind? You must be up for some reason.” Tony inquires.

The sound of bare fist on leather finally comes to an end and James pants.

What’s on his mind? Fuck… He’s not going to admit that it’s those dreams that are keeping him up. Dreams that aren’t nightmares, but do very much terrify him.

He doesn’t even know how to make sense of what’s on his mind. These-these _wonderings_ that he’s got about Tony—these inappropriate thoughts, trying to dissect Tony’s every move when he’s around other men—that’s what’s on his mind! What’s on his mind is the fact that ever since he found out that Tony is _gay_ or _half-gay_ or whatever, he can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop asking questions and trying to figure out what on Earth makes Tony that way.

James cannot get these blisteringly bitter thoughts out of his head. He doesn’t want Tony to think about men! He doesn’t want to think about Tony thinking about men and he wished he’d never fucking found out because ever since then, he’s woken up every single night at 2:00 a.m. with dreams imagining Tony liking men. Tony liking _him!_

“Nothing.”

* * *

The holidays are beginning and James isn’t sure how he feels about it. His gifts are okay and he’s gotten better at socializing by talking to the receptionist on Floor 1 every time he goes to the park to write his letters, so he thinks that everything will be alright. Ms. Potts is staying in the Compound for the two days leading up to thanksgiving and Clint’s wife, Laura, called yesterday to say she’d be able to come to the Christmas celebration, but there’s been no new news of Colonel Rhodes.

James is getting more and more curious. Who is this mysterious man who’s so close to tony?

When James asks FRIDAY for some information on him, she gives him a whole military background and preaches to him all about how Rhodes is an amazing person. “Is he good to Tony?” James finds himself asking, then immediately regretting. Tony can probably see a history of whatever he asks FRIDAY, and it’s a bit embarrassing that he asks so many things about Tony.

" _Boss has been friends with Colonel Rhodes for several decades. Boss considers him to be his best friend.”_

“Oh. Well, whatever.” James says flippantly. There’s no point in wondering about someone who he’s going to meet in two days. He’ll just have to see about him later.

Peter and his Aunt May will be coming too. It’s the first time he’ll meet her, and he feels a bit nervous about it. He wants people to like him, now. He already likes Aunt May, based on all the stories he’s heard from Peter. It’s the first time he’s liked someone before he’s met them.

Everyone has friends and family that they’re bringing to thanksgiving, and James is here because…well, he’s here. He doesn’t have any family or friends to bring. Steve isn’t welcome, T’Challa probably doesn’t even consider James a real friend, and FRIDAY is in the ceiling. Nakia wouldn’t come, either. She won’t celebrate Thanksgiving, and he’s not allowed to admit that they even know one another, despite the fact that they talk every week on the phone.

_I have to stay behind for Rebecca; she can’t handle being alone, Stevie._

He blinks the memory away. No, he doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to feel those feelings that aren’t his own. He doesn’t want to feel the loss of a woman who he’s not even sure is alive. He turns around at his desk, running his only hand through his hair and tugging lightly, attempting to bring himself back to reality. Shells are falling beside his ears.

_“Are you alright, James? Your heartbeat is elevated. It is likely that you are feeling anxiety.”_

He sighs. “I’m fine. I just keep remember all these things about Rebecca. She used to be my sister, I guess. I don’t even know if she’s alive, yet she’s been in my head ever since I started the Program.” He still rarely says B.A.R.F out loud. It doesn’t seem like the right time. 1 2 3 4 he breathes. “FRIDAY…is she dead? Is my sister dead?”

_“Rebecca Barnes passed away ten years ago. I am sorry, James.”_

He stares down at his lap, unsure what to do. Is he…sad? Is it wrong to be sad about a woman he has no memory of? Is it wrong to not feel sad over his own sister’s death? He doesn’t _remember_ her, just as he doesn’t really remember Steve when he was little. Is she a part of Bucky, that person he left behind, like Steve?

Either way, she should be here. If he had that life that he missed out on, with the white picket fence and the house in the suburbs and the _Uncle Bucky_ , she would be there with him, having playdates with their kids. He…he is sad that she’s not here. Well, maybe that’s not right. He’s sad that he has no one. No family.

_"Would you like to see pictures of Rebecca Barnes? Looking through pictures of past family members is usually a part of the grieving process in the planning of a funeral.”_

He bites his lip. Should he grieve for a faceless person in his life, where only emotions are attached to his memories of her? He never made it to his sister’s funeral, but he supposes that’s fitting. Too busy killing... He never made it to the rest of her _life_ either. “I…Yes.”

On the wall, to the side of his corkboard, a few pictures are projected. In one, a woman that he doesn’t recognize is standing on a big boulder, arms stretched out wide beside her, dressed in green shorts and a white tank top, a huge backpack set beside her. _“In this photo, she was rock-climbing.”_

Would James have been there with her if he had lived long enough for that life?

Another picture, a child in front of a birthday cake, a little yellow date typed out in the corner, and Rebecca next to her along with another woman. _“In this photo is her best friend’s child, June.”_

FRIDAY continues to display the photos, not knowing what it is that she can do to assist James. He stays like that for too long, watching pictures flash by of a woman that he does not know, but needs to mourn. _“Would you like me to schedule an extra appointment with Dr. Mendoza?”_ She asks. If he says no, it is very likely that she will inform Boss of James’ behavior.

“Hmm?” He mumbles, caught in a daze. “No. I don’t want to talk to her. This is fine.”

There’s a pause, but she continues to project pictures. It is supposed to help. Reliving memories of a family member’s life is supposed to be a fond moment, but perhaps it only works when the person was there for their family member’s life. _“…I am afraid that I do not know how to assist you, James. Grieving is much more complex than I am currently able to comprehend. Even other humans do not know how to help one another in this situation.”_

He shakes his head, wondering why he’s not crying. Is he heartless, or did HYDRA just mess him up that bad? The other day he dropped a macaroni noodle on the ground and started to cry, yet he doesn’t when his sister is dead? “Just… you’re my friend. That’s help enough.”

_“Friends cannot always help beyond being there for one another. In those cases, those who need help seek professionals, people in authority, or adults.”_

His gaze settles on his lap. “I know. I always wished Stevie would just go to an adult, but he never did.” 1 2 3 4 he breathes. “I know it’s annoying when friends wont. But…I don’t know. What can anyone say to make it better? She’s dead and I don’t know her. I don’t have anyone coming to thanksgiving for me. I don’t have any family…I never got to know them.”

Now, tears prickle. He is not crying for Rebecca, whoever she is. He is crying because he doesn’t know her. He never got the chance.

* * *

James Rhodes is taller in person than he looks in the photos online. He stands with his back straight, coat thrown over his arm. He is intimidating, still managing to seem daunting as he chuckles his way into Tony’s arms, the first time that James has seen Tony touch another man. James pushes the thought away, angered that his brain even brought it up.

Today is a happy day. Today, Tony gets to his best friend and James gets to meet him. Today is not a day to think about those strange, misplaced feelings that creep into James’ mind at night. That’s for tomorrow.

The Super Soldier eagerly waits his turn to be allowed to greet the man and feels himself being appraised over Tony’s shoulders as Rhodey hugs the mechanic. The Colonel greets him tensely, with a firm handshake and a “you must be James.”

Like he’d seen in a movie, James parrots, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Introductions go normally from there on, with Miss Potts and Peter hugging him and chattering on about what he’s missed. James stands awkwardly to the side, not quite in the circle but not quite out of it and leans against the kitchen counter. Subconsciously, he stares at the man to find any trace of threat and finds a knife at his ankle. Typical.

Before James can complete his judgement, Tony and the Colonel disappear into the Workshop, claiming that it’s to see some new tech. James wonders if that’s true, or if they’re going to go do _something else_.

“I think you’ll like Mr. Rhodes.” Peter chirps to James, grabbing an apple off of the counter and chomping down on it. “He’s really straightforward, like you.”

James furrows a brow. “What’s that mean?”

“You’re honest. You don’t care what people think.”

Oh, he definitely cares what people think. “Yeah.” He lies. “I’m going down to the Art Room. Want to come?” A few times before Peter had joined him and tried his hand at drawing. It didn’t go well, but they both found it to be very entertaining.

“Sure.”

* * *

The second that Colonel James Rhodes laid eyes on James Barnes for the first time in person, only one through ran through his head: _oh no._

Of course, because he is a polite man, he ignores this throughout their greetings and their introductions. Tony seems happy that the two Jameses are meeting, and Rhodey noticed that the man was staring at each of them for a little too long, trying to gauge their reactions to see if they’d like each other as much as Tony likes them both. And why would he be behaving in such a way? There’s only one answer.

Oh, no, no, no. This is going to be a nightmare.

Eventually, Tony makes an excuse he and Rhodes needing to go down to the lab, where the mechanic has a suit upgrade waiting. The second that they’re alone and the doors are sealed off from the outside world, Rhodey erupts.

“This is bad. This is _very_ bad.”

Tony raises a brow. “What’s bad? The upgrade’s _perfect_!”

“What?” The Colonel scoffs. “No! Not the upgrade! The upgrade’s fine-“

“No, it’s _perfect_ -“

“I’m talking about you having a crush on the assassin who’s staying in your house!” Rhodes yells, falling back into an office chair set to the side of the room. For now, the upgrades can wait, even though that’s what his visit’s officially about. If Tony is landing himself in yet another weird, destructive situation with an inappropriate crush, then he has to stop him! 

All that Tony can do is scoff. Why on Earth is Rhodey thinking this? A _crush_? Tony is a grown man, he doesn’t have crushes, and definitely on people who are as unstable as Barnes. “No, I don’t. What’s your problem?” 

“I knew it the second that I saw him,” with that stupid man bun and the big shoulders and the big body and the blue eyes, “he’s just your type and now you’re _feeling things_ for him? Dude!” A sense of déjà vu washes over Rhodey. How many times has he had this conversation? The guy on the subway with the puppy, the guy at Tony’s neighbor’s funeral, the dog walker from Venezuela, Pepper’s fourth cousin…how has Tony not learned his lesson?! 

“What? Don’t ‘dude’ me!” Tony calls out. “Who says I’m feeling things for him? H-Y-You know he killed my parents? That’s––no one has crushes on guys who kill their parents.” He says, grasping for something to defend himself. Rhodey’s being crazy!

“Oh my god, you _like_ him.” Rhodes whispers to himself.

_“What?!”_

Now, the man stands all the way up, turning to face is stupid, confused scientist friend. All those years with evidence in front of him that feelings like this never work out, and yet here he is, having learned nothing… “That is the first time you’ve ever casually mentioned your parents casually and you’re doing it because that’s the only defense you can think of! You like him!”

_“I do not!”_

“Yes, you do.”

“I do not! What-What’re you even going on about, huh? I mean sure, he’s all big and muscular and has the jawline or whatever, but that doesn’t mean I _feel_ for him! He’s a hot guy on a bench, and you don’t feel anything when they don’t have a baby!”

_“What?”_

“Y’know what, whatever. I don’t have feelings for him.”

Feelings go past looks, and Tony only cares about James’ looks. He only cares that his hair is stupidly long and his shoulders are stupidly wide and his torso gets narrow around the hips and probably has a nice happy trail that Tony wishes he could see. He doesn’t _feel_ things when James looks sad, or when James is confused because his friend betrayed him, just like Tony’s did. Or when James is the only one who has been in any situation similar to Tony—being tortured until you hurt people, having your friends turn their backs on you without a care. Tony…he doesn’t feel any of that. He doesn’t!

“This is just like that history professor, isn’t it?” Rhodes wonders aloud. Then he looks up, demanding, “Is he _actually_ cute, Tony, or is he just over six foot?”

“Wh-you do _not_ get to bring height into this. I am not short!”

“Yes, you are! And you fall for every tall, sad guy who comes through your doors! This is Dr. Jacobsen all over again." 

“It is not-“ Tony halts. “Wait, his name was Dr. Jacobsen? I thought it was Dr. Brown.”

“Well, you wouldn’t remember because you were too busy looking up into his eyes to care.”

“ _Up_ into…” Tony scoffs. “Now you’re just being rude.” He shakes his head vigorously, but instead of further demanding that Tony tell the truth, Rhodes just stares at him expectantly. Tony breaks. “Fine! Y’know what? Maybe he is tall and hot and cute and damaged. I don’t care. I like him, _maybe_. Doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to do anything with him. I don’t think he even knows my middle name.”

“You don’t let anyone know your middle name.”

That annoying fucking vampire movie had gotten him made fun of for it throughout all of the 2000s. Tony never wants to think about it again. “Yeah, and that includes him. Don’t tell him, by the way. That’d be embarrassing.” Tony says.

Rhodes shakes his head, pressing his fingers to his temples and closing his eyes. “I cannot believe this is happening.”

“No, you’re overreacting. He’s cute and he’s nice. What’s wrong with that?”

“You’ll be proposing to him in a day…”

“Will not!”

“You knew him for like a week before you agreed to take his arm out because it would make him happy!”

“So, I want him to be happy, what’s wrong with that? I like my _friends_ to be happy.” Tony demands. What is _so_ wrong with Tony being kind to someone? Is it so rare a thing that his best friend has to give him shit for it?

Rhodey nearly gags. How on earth can someone be so dumb? “Steve wanted a new coffee maker because it’d make _him_ happy, and you told him to put it up his ass!” And they were still friends back then. 

“That’s different. Steve’s a dick.” 

“You-Ugh! Oh, my god. You know what? Fine, I won’t try and talk you out of this. I’ll just sit by and watch as you do it again.” The Colonel says.

“Fine! Then I’ll do it again.” 

“What? No. That was supposed to get you _not_ to do it again.”

“I’ll do whatever I want to.”

Rhodes shakes his head. “Unbelievable. Do whatever you want, I don’t care. But you have to take into account that he now is an amputee prisoner of war. He killed your parents, he fought against you in Siberia. That should _not_ get you going.”

“It’s not _that_ that gets me going.” It’s the niceness in James’ voice and the hardness of his torso when Tony has to feel his heartbeat. It… _James_ is what gets him going. Stupid, annoying, good-looking James. “He is _nice_ and I like him because he is nice. I took a chance letting someone in here on the off chance that they might deserve another try at life, and I was right. He proved me right by being nice. _That_ is what I like.”

“I think I’m going to throw up. I haven’t heard you talk about anyone like that since Pepper.” Rhodes mutters. “Calling someone _pretty_ …"

“So, he’s pretty…I’m pretty, even James said so. People are pretty, what’s it matter? Feelings are what matter and I don’t feel anything romantic towards him.” _I just want to run my hands through his hair and sit in his lap every once in a while, but I won’t._

“He said that you’re pretty?”

“FRIDAY said that he said that I was pretty.” Tony cringes at the sound of his own voice. He sounds more and more like Peter every day, passing down gossip through the grapevine, like a true teenager.

His bubble of thought is popped by Rhodey standing up. “You’re using FRIDAY to spy on what he thinks of you?”

“What? Do you think that little of me? No. I asked her if James was busy and she said she was talking to him while he was in the bath and that he said I was pretty.”

“He was talking to FRIDAY _while he was in the bath_ about how you were pretty?”

Tony stares at Rhodes, narrowing his eyes. “Well when you say it like that-" 

“Oh, my god. This guy is clearly not emotionally stable.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Prisoner of war!” The Colonel yells. 

“Fine, so he’s not emotionally stable.” Tony concedes, only more annoyed. “I’m not making a move! He’s not _claiming_ to be emotionally stable! In fact, he’s admitted to me many times that he can’t make sense of his emotions, but he’s trying his best!”

“You’re talking about your _feelings_ with him, now?”

“No! He talked about his feelings to me because I accidentally let it slip that Steve betrayed him too. Like Steve does to everyone.” Tony snaps bitterly. “And so, what? Maybe I _liked_ hearing about his feelings! What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing would be wrong about that if you two forming a relationship wasn’t a totally dangerous idea!”

“Relationship…” Tony scoffs. “Holding hands and talking about feelings is not a _relationship_.”

“It probably is to him! How many friends do you think that the guy has? Don’t you see, Tony? He probably can’t just brush away the fact that he likes you—which he must! You can go back to your life if this doesn’t lead somewhere. What life’s he have?”

“A-he’ll have a life. He’s going to be an Avenger once he’s better!”

“That is a you-related life! There’s no way the two of you could start or end well!”

“I…” Tony groans. He knows that! He knows that and he already knew it before Rhodey got here. Of _course,_ Tony knows that he can’t let his feelings get serious!

Of course, Tony knows that James is getting attached to him, because Tony’s the only one around. But Tony’s introducing him to people! A therapist, a doctor, Peter and Happy and Pepper and everyone who works in the offices! But he’s not allowed to leave the Compound, so Tony can’t give him any better! And Tony can’t stop being nice to him because that will only make things worse.

So, Tony will not act on his feelings. He’ll let himself stare at James and like when James is nice, but he will never admit any of that to the man in question. He can see things and feel things without harboring an unhealthy relationship. The fact that Rhodey is so alarmed by these feelings is outrageous! Does he think that Tony is some idiot? That he’ll go all _senior year History Professor’s clingy side piece_ on James?

“I am perfectly capable of liking someone without getting them into an unhealthy relationship, Rhodey. Who do you think I am?" 

Rhodey groans as if he’s in pain, falling back into his seat. “I’m not worried about _him_ getting into an unhealthy relationship. I don’t care about him. I care about _you_ liking someone that you can’t have because you’re too nice a person! If he has a life that only revolves around you, then he’ll be miserable and you’ll be miserable!” 

“Oh, what-ever. It’s not like anything’s ever going to happen! Being gay back then was like a disease! I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even put together the fact that Peter’s gay, and I heard Peter call young-JFK hot _in front of James_!” The mechanic pauses. “Actually, on second thought, he might not’ve known who JFK was.”

“Probably not.” Rhodey sighs. “I’m not trying to bust your balls about _feeling_. I know you can’t really help it-“

“Uh, no, I can’t _at all_ help it-“ 

“but how am I just supposed to not worry about this? There’s so much potential for disaster here. I mean, what happens when he gets hurt, or when he finds someone else?”

“Then he gets hurt. I help. He finds someone else, I’ll live with it. Life will go on. Having feelings for a cute roommate is not the end of the world.” Tony said. It didn’t seem right to call him a cute roommate, but every other description of how they knew one another was a real mouthful. Assassinator-of-parents, cute-off-limits-recovering-prisoner-of-war, Steve-hater. 

“Anyone with feelings for their roommate will tell you the opposite.”

“Yeah, I know about you and _Mark_ in your damn sophomore year, get over it.” Tony sighs, falling back onto the couch.

Stupid Rhodey and his stupid roommate all those years ago…how can Rhodes call _him_ crazy when he had that whole fiasco in his living situation? The mechanic lets out a groan, cracking his knuckles. “Aren’t you supposed to be here for your annoying, perfect suit? I worked hard on that damned thing.” 

In no way is Rhodes satisfied by that half assed change in conversation, but with a glance over at Tony, who has the back of his hand over his forehead like he’s about to faint in a soap opera, Rhodey lets it go. “Yeah, I am. Show me the designs, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m trying to make my writing filled with more intent, moving the plot along WHILE bringing James forward with his psychological healing.
> 
> Next chapter is even longer.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper and James, haircut?, Peter is gay?, and Peter never wanted to hear James say the word ‘orgy’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter fucking kills me I love when I make cute things between james & peter. Also, long chapter. To make up for the shorter ones :)
> 
> Total wordcount is nearing 70k now :)

If Pepper had to describe herself as having any one attitude towards James Barnes, she would say ‘evaluative’. In every move that he made leading up to Thanksgiving dinner, she quietly observed him, sure to catch every detail available.

He tried to help make dinner, why? He tugged on the sleeves of his shirt, why? He used a rubber band instead of a hair tie even when the band pulled strands out and made him wince, why? He stared at Tony, why? He stared at Rhodes, why? He didn’t stare at Peter, why?

What made him tick? What made him do the things that he did, and what was he planning? 

Her first interaction with him since arriving at the Compound was his offer to help pick up her bags. Before she could give him a cold stare and make it clear that she wanted his hand nowhere near her, FRIDAY was summoning little bots to pick them up, and Rhodey to go and bring them to her room.

The second interaction came around a meal, him passing her the salt. The third was her spying on him in the gym, taking in what level of threat he posed. According to the way that he stood, stance defensive at all times, and muscles rippling down his body––she was _not_ watching him because he was shirtless, but because he was dangerous––proved that he could definitely do some damage to the peace of the Compound.

When he had to go on what they called in the Compound a “training mission”, where there was a mugger with a fake gun and James supervised Peter’s work under the guise of four SHIELD agents, watching to make sure that he didn’t run, Pepper had the live feed on as she worked. It was interesting, what he did. He was like a very clueless mother hen, looking out for her chick as it wandered over to the pond. The pond being the Brooklyn Alleyway. 

James was demure behaviorally, yes, always staying tucked away in a room, listening in but having to force himself to participate, but he was still a risk. He still had such incredible power, and in such unsteady hands.

At night, she wondered where he was. Did they keep him locked in his room, in case of a nightmare or a flashback? Or was he out in plain sight, waiting for someone to startle him into a breakdown? Did he even sleep at all, or was he just planning for the right time to attack?

With the hairs on her arm stood up to their ends, she pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt all the way down, completely covered up, and tip-toed her way into the kitchen, praying that she wouldn’t run into anyone. 

There in the living room, visible from the coffee pot beside which she was perched, sat James Barnes himself, bent over a tablet. It glowed gray onto his skin, and she froze in her spot.

Like a curious bird, he peered over at her and tilted his head slightly to the left. It was around eleven at night, and James hadn’t gone to bed. Tony said that he was supposed to be getting at least eight hours of sleep at night. How was he going to do that at this rate?

Unafraid, she lifted her chin. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping now? Everyone else is.”

He frowned and glanced at the time. Oh. “Probably.”

“Why aren’t you?” The question was undeniably rude, considering that regardless of the way he got here, this was where he lived, and that being awake late at night wasn’t suspicious. If he were any other returned POW, she wouldn’t have asked. They both knew that.

“Sleeping is hard.” He didn’t look at her. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I work constantly. I’m the CEO, so I’ve got plenty to do.” When he didn’t seem to have a reaction, she pressed the button on the pot and moved away to take a few steps closer to him, to get a better look at his current state. All things considered, he looked alright. Well rested, and his hair was pulled back into a clean bun. He wasn’t shaking or crying or killing anyone, it didn’t look like. “How is the B.A.R.F program? Tony said you started a little while ago.”

This was a question which, under different circumstances, could have been asked as someone checking up on his wellbeing; but he knew better than to trust anything which came out of her mouth. He knew an enemy when he saw one, whether he wanted to consider her one or not.

“It’s hard,” he admitted, “but it’s working. I’m remembering things.”

The nearer that she got, the better she could take in the whole picture of him. He was in a navy shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, like he was ready for bed, but had an entire setup of art supplies in front of him on the coffee table. Yet he didn’t use any of them… why not? He was just sitting here, and not in the art room. If he wanted to do art, why did he insist on being closer to everyone in the building, and not off to the side where he and the supplies belonged. 

“Are you painting?”

“I was going to, but I’m not feeling it right now. I already finished my presents for Peter and Tony, and I don’t really have anything else to paint.” He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of being hostile. He wasn’t going to give her ammunition.

She raised a brow. “Your presents? You’re making them something?”

“Yeah. A painting. Tony likes Monet, so I tried to do it like him. I’m not sure that I got it exactly right, but I kind of did the same thing as him. Peter liked abstract, so I kind of just put some shit on a canvas,” he chuckled lightly. It wasn’t quite true. He had worked pretty hard on Peter’s gift, but it seemed awkward to admit that. “What did you get them?”

“Tech,” she said simply. Then she moved forward, not at all caring about making conversation. “Who’s that? On the tablet? Is she someone you’re going to paint, or someone you’re getting a gift for?”

James peered down at the screen in his lap. He was looking through old pictures of Rebecca, still going through the process of saying goodbye without ever having said hello. “That’s my sister. She’s dead.”

“Oh." 

“But, uh, that wasn’t really what I was looking at. I was trying to find haircut pictures, for when I can get one.” That was a complete lie. He’d already picked out what style he wanted. It wasn’t his fault that he’d forgotten he wasn’t supposed to talk about death so casually. He flipped the page on the tablet and went to the next picture, which was of his haircut he’d chosen.

“You’re going tomorrow to get one?”

“Huh? No, no. The Agents, I don’t remember where they’re from, but they’re not gonna let blades around my neck. I can go on missions with Peter,” he laughed, “but I can’t have safety scissors to cut my own hair. It’s strange.” 

She frowned. He was daydreaming about a haircut? At so late at night, his mind wasn’t on his dead sister––well, it was, because he was clearly lying about what he’d been looking at on the tablet––but on a haircut? A haircut which was one of two pictures on his tablet? Why was a haircut his first cover-up story?

“Why is the haircut so important to you? Because they won’t let you have it?”

“I guess. HYDRA kept my hair long, but I decided I want it short. It’s a little frustrating that people are still telling me what to do, but I know that it means I get to stay here, so…” Finally, he looked up at her and cocked his head to the side. “Why did you come here two days early? FRIDAY said that you were having to cancel meetings to be here.”

Gosh, FRIDAY was talking about _her_ schedule with an assassin? Oh, she was going to have _words_ with that AI tonight. “I wanted to see Tony,” she defended, “this isn’t exactly the best time of year for him. The anniversary of his parents’ death is coming up, and it’s the holidays at the same time.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“Probably not.”

James thought nothing of her abrasiveness. “It’s good that you’re here, then. And Colonel James, too. Tony talks about you guys a lot. You’re his friends.” The Super-Soldier looked down at his feet, covered with pair of clean socks. It was such a mundane sight, when his thoughts were so morbid. “I…I know that you don’t trust me here, and that’s okay. But for what it’s worth, I don’t want to hurt Tony. I owe him so much… He… He’s helping me when no one else will, and that means a lot to me. So, I’d never hurt him intentionally. And I know that I can’t take back what I did.”

“You were under HYDRA’s influence.” She found herself saying, not knowing if that’s what she believed, or if it was a test.

But he knew. “That doesn’t matter,” he deadpanned, “and you don’t have to pretend that it does. We know what I did, how I broke up the Avengers too. That’s your friend and your city that I put in danger.” He couldn’t meet her eyes, though his voice wasn’t emotional. “You should at least know that I’m not blind to that. I know what I did. Not sure what I can do about it.”

Interesting. Something that they could agree on… “You’re different than I expected.”

“And you’re exactly how the others described you,” he gave an empty smile and picked up his paintbrushes, setting them back into their box.

As he went to walk away, she felt the need to call out. “Wait, James,” when he turned, her mind went blank. “…Good night.”

“Good night.”

* * *

“James, how have you been doing?” Thick accent traveled through the phone, and James found himself looking around his bedroom to see if anyone was near enough to hear him. 

It was currently sometime in the afternoon, and he’d just woken up from his nap, interrupted by a timer, as was recommended by the internet. He couldn’t allow himself to sleep too much because that would only make things worse. 

Blinking the sleep from his eyes he rolled over to face where his cell phone was, face-up on the dresser and displaying his friend’s secret number on the screen. He didn’t talk to Nakia often––always afraid of someone hacking into the signal and finding that Wakanda had harbored fugitives––but when he did, it was always a little emotional.

He looked around. It was too emotional to be okay with anyone knowing what he said. He needed to make sure no one would hear…

Head inclined, he reached out for the phone and put it to his ear, off speaker. “I’m…there’s a lot going on. B.A.R.F started––the program that’s going to help me. It’s going pretty well, even though it’s hard. And, uh, Spider-Man, he’s here too. We’re friends. It’s just Tony that I’m confused about…” He whispered. Surely, FRIDAY was going to be aware of everything that he said. He just wished she wouldn’t be. 

“What about him is confusing?”

He shifted on the bed, falling backwards and lowering his eyes. “Uh…hang on. FRIDAY?”

 _“Yes James?”_ The AI chirped, coming to consciousness in his room. 

“Can you… turn yourself off in here? I just… I’d feel better knowing that no one could hear this phone call. It’s kind of personal… I’m just talking to a friend from… a while ago. Just catching up, but you know a lot has happened.”

This was curious, FRIDAY observed. She peered down at him, not understanding what was happening. The phone had what appeared to be someone’s code name as a contact in it. Something that couldn’t be hacked, though she didn’t yet try. She already suspected where it was coming from. Wakanda.

It must have been _Steve_. 

“I don’t believe that I’m permitted to do so, as part of the SHIELD guidelines. But, I will never share what you say with anyone outside of Boss.” It wasn’t a lie. The second she could confirm that he was talking to the traitor, she’d tell her Boss. But no one else.

James frowned. “You…you can’t, like, watch me but not listen? Wh-why don’t you call down to Tony and ask for special permission, FRI?”

_“I will ask.”_

In the lab, tinkering with the next MARK machine was Tony, bobbing his head to music and dancing slightly. It would be a laughable sight to anyone else, seeing as he was in nothing but a very long shirt and underwear, one of the most respected mechanics and engineers of his time, but the AI was used to it.

 _“Boss,”_ she piped up, and saw him incline his head as a queue for her to speak. She already knew that she would have to turn down the music for him; he refused to do it himself. _“James is requesting that I be turned off in his bedroom for the time being. He wishes to take a phone call, but seems uncomfortable with the prospects of me hearing.”_ Tony heard her pause. _“He says that it is a_ friend _of his. I believe that it is Steve Rogers.”_

Tony immediately sat up. “He’s calling Steve?”

 _“An untraceable number. I would assume that it is from Wakanda. They are bold enough to call him on a cell phone that_ you _got him.”_ Wakandans had a reputation––at least with people who knew them––for being completely unafraid. 

There was so much to consider. So many thoughts. The first of them being: _Oh, Steve?_ Steve who James and Tony had bonded over, who had found mutual liberation in letting go of––that Steve? 

He rubbed his temples with aching fingers. “Okay, just let them talk.” It nearly pained him to say it, but he knew that in reality, what they spoke about was none of his business.

Well, it kind of was, but he had too much respect for James to stop him from talking to Steve. They had plenty of things to work out, and he would have to let them. This was about their friendship, and Tony wasn’t a part of that.

He had thought that he’d been the one to end their friendship, but one betrayal couldn’t end a hundred-year relationship, he supposed. It had been stupid for him to think that he could sway James like that. Who was Tony kidding? 

_“But Boss-“_

“Let them talk. They’re friends, and they’ve been through a lot. James can come to his own conclusions about what’s happened. And if he doesn’t want you listening in… I get that.”

_“Steve Rogers is a dangerous fugitive.”_

“I never wanted him to be a fugitive. That was the government’s doing. And I’ll be damned if I back anything that Ross does ever again.” God, so many things were wrong about this. So many things. Steve was not a dangerous fugitive. Probably not to James, at least. Maybe _emotionally_ dangerous, but not physically. “FRI… This is James’ choice. You know how he is about choices; and this is his to make. If he wants to talk to Steve, he can talk to Steve.” 

Tony didn’t mention how it stung to say it.

In his room, James was delighted and a little awkward upon hearing that he was allowed to have a private conversation. FRIDAY’s voice was flat when she made the announcement; was she mad?

“Uh, thank you, FRI.” He cleared his throat and then rolled over onto his side. “I’m back, N—” he stopped short, not quite ready to believe that the government truly was going to leave him alone and stop listening. “What were we talking about?” 

“Tony." 

“Oh, right. He’s strange. He’s real nice to me even though he doesn’t need to be, and even though he was kinda wary of me at first, we’re friends now.” It was nearly embarrassing to say aloud. Did it really have to be so obvious that he was lonely? That loneliness ached in his bones… “The sessions are going really well, and he stays with me for them even though we know he might end up seeing the memory with his parents one day. I made him promise to leave the room if it ever comes up, but I’m not usre he would.”

“You sound fond of him,” Nakia observed. “Does he take good care of you?”

“Yes. He’s great.” In all honesty, Tony was a miracle. “And Spider-Man, he’s been good. He’s a cute—uh, kid. He’s a kid, by today’s standards. Anyway, he’s fun. He’s teachin’ me about pop culture and history. All the stuff I missed.”

“Are they the main two you spend your time with?”

“I talk to some of the Agents who watch me. The nice ones whose job it is to sign me in and out and stuff. I do training with some military members, but I’m not allowed to push myself too hard, which is kind of annoying. Not as good as back in Wakanda. Nothing compares to Wakanda.” Briefly, he forgot about the fact that FRIDAY may be listening in. “Remember before you put me in the freeze, when we used to train in the hills? Here, it’s all indoors, and in the city. Sometimes I sit outside, but the grass isn’t as tall and it isn’t as warm.” 

“That sounds good. Have you practiced self-care?” 

“Yeah. Hard to tell when breaking a punching bag is self-care or self-destruction,” he sighed. “But what about you? How has your fight gone? Made a dent in the trafficking?”

* * *

Tony really wishes that Rhodey hadn’t made him admit that he _feels_ for James. Afterwards, Tony finds himself staring, trying to evaluate everything that he sees and feels when he looks at James, determined to convince himself that this is just casual; that his pushing emotions away hasn’t rendered him even more enamored with the Super Soldier.

The more that he looks, the more he wishes he could stop watching. Throughout the day-before-thanksgiving dinner James speaks minimally, taking a piece of each available dish. Rhodey had chosen where to order in from, and James took a little bit of everything, but Tony finds it strange that James would try everything instead of just choosing a few to start.

He tries not to think about it too much, just enjoying the meal with his whole family here.

But damn, is he starting to notice James’ body more. The man _is_ just Tony’s type, with his broad shoulders and sharp jaw, eyes focused like he’s thinking something intense. He is _interesting_ , and Tony, damn himself, cannot stop from being intrigued. He’s... Tony hates to use the word that Peter taught him, but it’s just accurate. James is… _thick_. His body is wide and muscular, he has a nice ass, he is a big personal all around. He has everything that Tony could picture himself wanting.

Except Tony can’t want him. He can’t think about this at Thanksgiving when Pepper is saying a prayer and Tony is pretending to follow around. Especially not when James really _is_ following around, enjoying a piece of dialogue that he can understand. So, he doesn’t let himself think about it. He does everything in his power to think of mashed potatoes and that’s it.

At night, he can’t sleep, too haunted by the vision of James shirtless for his doctor’s appointments, which Tony had always left before the Soldier had to undress. He wishes he would’ve stayed, and it’s an awful wish. Why can’t he be a better person? Why can’t James just be a little uglier?

He trails down to the living room to grab coffee and go to the lab so that he might be able to get some work done, but is instead met with a familiar sight, James sitting on the floor in front of a coffee table.

Is it time for a breakdown again? Did Steve do something?

Tony pads his way closer to the man, turning his head to the side slightly. “Can’t sleep?”

James doesn’t jump. He knew Tony was there, but didn’t react. “No, I can’t.”

Tony’s not quite sure what exactly compels him to do what he does next, but it surely isn’t something that Rhodes would approve of. He sits down next to James, shifting to face him, and when James says “My sister is dead”, he sets his hand on top of James’.

If Rhodey walked downstairs right now, he’d punch Tony.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks him, unsure what else to say. James’ hand is warm.

The Super Soldier shrugs. “I saw Dr. Mendoza about it. FRIDAY said I should. Dr. Mendoza told me that it makes sense that I’m not…I don’t feel comfortable being sad over Rebecca. I didn’t know her, after all.” He breathes out quietly, lifting his eyes to face the ceiling and grabbing Tony’s hand with a firmer grip—an acknowledgement of the comfort. “Apparently, my sister represents the future that I didn’t get.”

Tony considers that. Yes, James missed out on a future, even though he didn’t die. Bucky Barnes died. He doesn’t ask anything, just moves closer, doing his best to help the other man relax. After all, nothing can be done about a dead person.

James sniffs and exhales. “I…It’s wrong to cry for her. I don’t know her. I just wonder what could’ve been. Like with Peggy.”

“You…You were with Peggy?”

“No. We were friends––Steve, Peggy, Howard and I. Friends, kind of. If…If I’d made it, I probably would’ve ended up being like Peggy. An aunt, a spouse. I would’ve had a life, would’ve gotten to call Howard and Steve’s kids my nephews. Would’ve gotten that, but HYDRA took away any chance.” He sniffles. “I don’t know. Maybe it helps that I don’t think I’d want you to be my nephew anyway.”

Tony chuckles and James follows suit. “I’d be a great nephew.” He lies.

“It’d be weird to be an old man when you’re here so young.”

Tony snorts. “I’m not young. I’m older than you are, physically.”

“Yeah, well. You look good. A lot younger.” He breathes, not understanding that Tony will take that line and replay it in his head for the next month. “I don’t know. My therapist said that it’s like…I’m mourning the loss of a future I never had. It’s hard to let go of something that never happened.”

Like Tony’s future with Pepper. Would they have had kids? Ruled the world together? If only she hadn’t––wait. That’s the epitome of ridiculous. He cannot compare James being kidnapped and tortured by HYDRA to Pepper and him breaking up. Ridiculous. “It is hard,” Tony replies, not saying anything that went through his head. “But it’s possible. It’s necessary.”

James sniffs. “It just…sucks.”

Despite himself, Tony lets out a laugh. “It does suck.” That might be the understatement of the year.

“Keep havin’ nightmares where I wake up rushing to help her, when I don’t even know her. It’s strange. Like there’s someone else in my body.” Tears gather. “I’m tired of feeling like that. I just want it to be my body.”

The mechanic averts his eyes. Yes, he knows that feeling very well. A list runs through his head of things that he might be able to do to help. Kill HYDRA, get James a lot of alcohol, somehow help him feel that this body is his own? Melatonin, maybe? Then, it occurs to him.

“Well,” he says, quietly but conversationally, “ _I_ know that you’re not a threat. That was the main reason you couldn’t get your hair cut, but if you want, you can get it cut now. If that’d help.”

James looks up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“What if I go crazy?”

“Do you feel like you’re going to go crazy?”

He huffs. “No. I don’t think I can go crazy if I’ve been crazy this whole time.”

“That’s enough for me.” Tony grins. Like an angel fallen from heaven, here to deliver James’ every wish, he asks: “want to go get your hair chopped off?”

* * *

Tony’s car glows blue, and James thinks that there’s never been anything more fitting. He informs James that yes, this car is cool to people nowadays and very few people have one, and that no, he cannot drive because hundred-year-olds don’t get to drive cool sport cars, and that yes, he can push the window down with a button now.

It almost makes James cry. The future is tangible.

They speed down the road with a silent engine, only James’ exclamations heard over the wind. The car doesn’t have a top to it. It’s a _convertible_.

“This is jus’ about the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! And, well, I guess I haven’t _seen_ FRIDAY, so it’s _the_ most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Tony laughs proudly, loving having his ego stroked by one of his favorite people. “I know!”

“What does this button do?”

“It opens the trunk.”

“What about this one?”

“Headlights.”

“What about-“

"Do _not_ touch the emergency break or we’ll die.”

“Amazing!”

When they pull up to the barber shop, buried in the city, the barber looks like he’s going to shit his pants. He’s about five-foot-two and has a swirly design on the side of his head, making James stare as they knock on the glass door, asking for entrance despite the CLOSED sign. “I don’t want that thing on the side of his head.”

“We can get you a normal haircut, don’t worry. I’ll have FRIDAY show him a picture of what you picked out before.”

James nods as finally the barber opens the door, mouth gaping. “Y-You’re Tony Stark! You’re Iron Man!” The man calls in awe, looking up like God just knocked on his front door.

“Yes; yes I am.”

* * *

**_Peter:_ ** _Just got to the Compound safe and sound :)) have a good day at work!! I’ll be home Sunday afternoon_

**_Aunt May:_ ** _Love you. I’ll be there at six._

Flexing his hands in an attempt to get rid of the cramping from vigorously texting Ned about how excited he is for this weekend, Peter skips his way into the lobby and past security, who know him well enough to not be concerned. “Good morning, Rick.” He calls to one of them, who nods his bald head in return.

He wanders his way into the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab something while waiting for Mr. Stark to get back home. “Oh! They’ve got gazpacho,” he whispers to himself, picking up the tub and pulling back from the fridge. “Gonna have me some of this-Oh!” The tub falls from his hand. “Jesus Christ! James, you scared me!”

“Sorry. I forget that normal people make sound when they walk.” James murmured, leaning against the fridge and looking at the tub Peter had knocked onto the ground. Leftovers from the meal that Rhodey had ordered in, which Tony had been very impressed by. He didn’t even make it, and yet Tony raved about how Rhodes knew all the best restaurants…

“Yeah, you’re a ballerina, I get it.” Peter jabs, smiling. “What’d you do to your hair? I didn’t even recognize you! I thought you were some creep who broke in here.”

It’s true. He’d thought it was someone entirely different, walking in all clean-shaven and put-together. James has on his usual tight shirt and joggers, looking as muscular and gigantic as usual, but his head almost looks like it’s a different shape. He looks like a man who cuts his hair regularly instead of a cross between a hipster singer and a gym trainer. Peter must say, he does _not_ mind it one bit.

If Ned and Michelle could see him now, this close to someone so jaw-droppingly hot… Maybe he should get a picture to send to them.

No, that’d be weird.

Still, he’s tempted. James is astoundingly human-looking, and good-looking. That potential Peter had seen in him (to be super hot) is coming out. He almost feels like a proud best friend, which he supposes he may be to James.

The Super Soldier smiles sheepishly, seeming awkward at the attention. “I got it cut last night. Tony took me to get it done.”

Peter flexes a brow. “He took you? Where’d you go?”

Oh. James bites his lip. Tony said it’d have to be their secret that he let James leave the Compound to go down to the barber shop a town away. Does Peter count as someone he should keep a secret with? Is a secret a lie? He doesn’t want to lie…. “There…there was a barber down in the first floor.” He mutters, feeling wrong.

Peter gasps. “Mr. Stark let you leave the Compound?”

“What? How’d you know?”

“’Cause that’s complete bullshit. There’s no barber here at night, and it’s totally a Mr. Stark move to take you out at midnight to get a haircut,” Peter snickers, “aren’t you supposed to be a super-spy? Like a really good liar?”

James shrugs, unbothered by the development of this kid being able to see through him. “Guess I can only lie if I’m actually trying.”

Truly a teenager in his need to know all of the gossip, Peter picks up his tub from the ground and sets it on the counter, abandoning it and stepping closer to his friend. “So, what happened? Did he drive you all the way out there?” James nods. “Oh! That’s so cool! Did he take you in one of the fancy cars? With the white seats and the glowy lights?” The only memory that Peter has of that was when he’d walked past the cars and Tony had just said “no” and nothing else. 

“Yeah; it was super cool. We never had cars like that in my time.”

“We barely have them now! Ugh, he’s never let _me_ in one of those! He says I’ll _get little kid germs_ everywhere.”

James outright laughs. It brings a smile to Peter’s face. “The barber nearly shit his pants when we pulled up.”

Peter’s eyes get dreamy. “I can just imagine. Man! That’s so cool. I thought you weren’t supposed to be around like razors or anything?”

“Tony said he trusted me.” 

“God, that’s so cool.” _I wish he’d take_ me _to get a haircut._

James chuckles. “So you’ve said. You’re here early, I thought you and your Aunt were going to be here for dinner around six.” 

“Yeah, but Mr. Stark is in a meeting right now and I wanted to help him and Miss Potts with dinner when he gets back. But,” he says excitedly, “that means we’d have time to go chill down in the art room. Want to?” 

Of course James would want that. He grinned and they padded off towards the art room stairwell. On the way down Peter’s phone lit up with MJ’s face, little beeping sounds bouncing off the walls.

“Oh, sorry. MJ’s facetiming me. Gotta talk guys.” He clicks the green button and James isn’t sure at all what the teenager just said to him.

* * *

As soon as MJ was on the phone, her face smiling up from the screen, he hopped down a couple steps and grinned wide. “I’ve only got a minute because James and I are headed to the art room but _oh my god_ you should’ve seen the guy!” Peter was absolutely enthused.

James watched curiously. Why was Peter so eager to talk about some guy? Was he very ugly?

 _“Was he tall? You know that you need a tall guy.”_ The girl on the other side of the phone asked.

James frowned. Need a tall guy? For what? To…to _reach something_? When Steve was all small, well…James wasn’t sure because there were no specific memories, but he kind of has the feeling that he used to get things off of shelves for little-Steve.

“Oh, he was so tall. So hot, too. Like, six foot with longish black hair. He looked like Keanu Reeves if he had, like, less of a long face. You would’ve loved it!” Peter cackled.

Before he could continue, FRIDAY was interrupting him. _“Peter, Boss would like to know if you want to join him and Colonel Rhodes in the lab tomorrow morning at 10:00. They will be working on suits.”_

The boy’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah.”

What? “Tomorrow?” James asked. “Rhodey was supposed to be gone tomorrow.” Tomorrow was when Tony was supposed to go back to his normal routine, where James could coincidentally run into him in the living room at night. With the _Colonel_ here, Tony had been in the lab with him for hours… It… Ugh. There were too many feelings. He wanted Rhodes to go home!

_“Yes, but he has decided to stay longer for reasons which I am not at liberty to say-“_

Peter squealed, “Secret mission! Oh, YES! God, it’s been so long since there was a secret mission! Suits in the lab is a cover! They’re going to prep us for a mission!”

James shifted awkwardly. “Secret mission?”

 _“Providing the most exciting possibilities for my secrets does nothing to help your being let down, Peter.”_ FRIDAY reprimanded. _“Suits in the lab at 10:00 a.m. means suits in the lab at 10:00 a.m.. James is also invited.”_

No one could quell Peter’s joy. “Ahh! We’re _both_ gonna go on a secret mission!”

James’ mind spun. Okay…this was new. He had been thinking of Rhodes and Tony as two best friends, him excluded. And Peter occasionally got invited because of their mutual love for science. But now James is invited?

“C’mon, James, let’s go make _art!_ I’m gonna draw my suit again.” Peter called, and began dragging him down the stairwell. If it were anyone else grabbing him so suddenly, he might’ve been alarmed.

They made their way over and down to the art room, and James tried to make sense of things. He had many questions, but where to start? Did the other James and Tony only invite him to the lab because it would be weird of them not to? Did they even really want him to go there? Would it be impolite of him not to go? Shouldn’t his instincts for manners answer that? He’s supposed to remember those.

“Peter, can I ask you something? It’s a question about people again.” FRIDAY struggled with the _why_ questions when it came to emotions, so James was in the habit of asking Peter about it instead.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Why would they invite me to look at Iron Man suits?” He asked. “I don’t know much about science and I don’t think that Colonel Rhodes was really looking to spend time with me.”

Peter considered this. “Remember in the limo when Mr. Stark said that he’d make you some tech when you were ready to use it? Maybe this is that. Maybe he made you something. Or he wants to get you ready for battle, so he can eventually make you something. Science isn’t all about putting equations together, you know.”

“Oh. Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure.”

“The…what do you need a tall man for? Is it more science stuff?” He inquired, looking over as he picked up a paint brush. His therapist had told him to try to paint his feelings, but all he felt now was confusion. He only wanted to find answers, to know everything without having to ask. Normal people didn’t ask these many questions, he was sure.

Peter blushed and stared down at his drawing pad. There were many issues with this question. James, though very sweet and always unsuspecting, was from a different time period. Peter had explained being gay as perfectly acceptable before, but he was never sure how much James actually understood of his teaching. And he was entirely sure that James hadn’t put together that Peter himself was gay.

Sure, they were friends, but coming out was often met with violence.

He remembers in a documentary that both the gay people and the pedophiles were grouped together in the 20’s and 30’s. Thought of the same way. Would James react the same way to Peter being gay as he would an adult being violent to a child? Would he be able to understand the difference? Would he be _willing_?

Peter could present it as something nonchalant, just to get James used to the idea. But then what? What would he do when James didn’t get why he felt this way? What would he do if things changed between them? What if James reacted like he so often did, when a topic or idea was so complicated and emotionally confusing that he just chose to forget it ever being brought up in the first place? Would that hurt even worse than him being disgusted?

“Well… Um, no. It isn’t more science stuff. It’s that… I want to _be with_ a tall man.” He paused to look over and see if James understood, but was too nervous to keep facing him for long. “I know that being gay was weird when you were growing up––that it was seen as gross––but you know from all the history textbooks that things are different now. Like… When _your_ parents were kids, women weren’t allowed to wear pants, but by the time you were growing up, they did. Because people become more open-minded over time. It was the same way with being gay. They realized that something as basic as just… _how you feel,_ if you want to wear pants or if you want to date people of the same sex, shouldn’t matter so much. And… basically, I like guys. And the guys that I like, they happen to be tall.”

James was silent for a moment. “What do you mean _like_?”

“I mean… I like other men. Romantically. It’s okay nowadays, but I know that people thought it was gross then you were growing up.” He responded, voice strained. “I understand if it freaks you out, but you should know that it’s normal now.”

For a second James didn’t say anything. He looked down at his canvas, having lost track of where he was supposed to be putting the paint. Then, “why?”

“Huh? Why what?”

“Why…all that?” James didn’t even know what he was asking. Peter talked way too much. It was confusing. “Why do you like tall men…like women like pants?”

Oh, god. He definitely didn’t get it. Peter sighed. “Sorry, I’ve probably got you all confused. I tend to ramble when I’m asked serious questions… Um, I don’t know why I like guys. I just…do. It’s just like how when men are attracted to women, there’s no _reason_. It’s just because.”

That didn’t make any sense, though. James furrowed his brow. “But girls are…they’re all small and nice. _Soft_.” Like Tony. How could anyone not like girls? “That’s the reason.”

Peter grinned. “And men are big and stupid, but I can’t help myself. I like guys.”

With a deep exhale, James frowned and shook his head. “I don’t understand…” he muttered. “So, MJ is your friend, right? The one on the phone. A person. The one you _text_.” He still didn’t like the idea of texting.

“Yes.”

“She said Tony was _gay_. Is that true?” He couldn’t help but to ask.

Peter hummed. “That’s a question for Mr. Stark, not me.”

Silence ensued for no more than a minute before James could no longer stop himself from asking more questions. “Who is Keen Reev? Is he your… boyfriend?”

“Keanu Reeves? No, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s a celebrity and he’s way older than me.”

“How is he _hot_? He’s tall?” Did he look like the man in the painting at the museum who Peter had also called _hot?_ What did it even mean to be hot?

Peter chuckled. “Yeah, and it’s more than that. Maybe he’s not hot but he’s _handsome_.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Definitely.”

James looked down at his canvas. God, this was so hard to keep track of. He remembered men together. Soldiers. Of course there were men together, but they never acknowledged it. They were off to die, so what reason did they have to recognize that something like that was going on? What reason did they have to stop two men from putting arms around one another in front of the fire? They took up less room that way, anyway. Took up fewer bunks when they shared one.

James sighed. “I remember men being together during the war. Soldiers. It wasn’t a big deal, yet it _was_. It… we knew it wouldn’t be right to any civilian, but we didn’t have the energy to care. Didn’t have the civilian priorities that make you be against something like that. We were all going to die, anyway. We were going to kill and we were going to die, so we didn’t have time to be bothered with it. Is it the same, with you? Like… like, there are no women, so there’s no alternative anyway? No reason not to?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there were no women on the battlefield. That was the excuse. There were no women, so…” James shrugged, paintbrush still in hand.

Oh. Peter looked down at his feet. “No. I don’t have an excuse, I just have how I feel. There are a million great girls, but I don’t want any of them.”

“That’s strange. Women are nice.”

The last thing Peter wanted was to hear a speech about how he should just _try_ a woman. _Try_ straight sex. _Give it a chance._ Fully prepared to make an excuse and leave the room, he reached forward to pick up his drawing, but paused once James spoke.

“So… it’s not _tall_ that you like, but _men_ that you like? For instance, if there was a tall and dumb girl, you wouldn’t like her, but if there was a tall and dumb man that you saw, you would like him?”

“It’s not like I fall for every guy.” Peter snorted, though he could just picture MJ disagreeing with him. “There is nothing––no girl on this earth––that could make me feel differently. No… no person, no _camp,_ no nothing.”

James cracked his knuckles, completely unaware of the severity of this conversation. “Does Tony know that you like… men? Boys? How have dating ranges changed again?” He shook his head and his voice trailed off.

Before Peter could try to answer his first question, another tangent went through his head. Peter kept saying he liked _men_. That made something protective _ping_ in the back of James’ mind. “You kids aren’t off to war at sixteen, so you get to be kids instead. When I was your age, sixteen was a _man_. But now, it’s not like that. I saw people on the news––old people, I guess––say that they think that makes kids weak, but I think it’s a good thing. You get to be kids. I think you should… you should probably date _boys_ and not _men_. Because you’re a _boy_ still, aren’t you? So you should stay away from _men_ until you’re older. Take your time to just be a kid.”

“Oh my god, we’re done with this conversation. I’m a kid, and I’m not looking to get with crusty old people, I don’t need you to lecture me about that.” Peter cried out. “I think you get the basics of it.”

It was making more sense. So, all those people on the field, it wasn’t because there were no women around? He had a sneaking suspicion, though he didn’t know if it was from old memories or knew knowledge, that he had always been aware that it had nothing to do with women.

A terrifying thought crossed his mind, as he realized that he could’ve been one of those men. He had all the knowledge about the men being together, but no awareness of where he was during all of it.

It was tiring not knowing who he was. Either currently, or in the past.

Peter kept drawing, no longer wanting to leave the room. Actually, maybe he did a little. James was awkward, and Peter was awkward by extension, but the anxiety was subsiding. “But one last thing, just so you know: Mr. Stark does know that I’m gay, but not everyone does. It’s a _very_ serious thing that you don’t tell anyone else.”

James nods. “Of course. _Never_ tell a civilian what goes on on the battlefield.” He said, as if he was more sure of that than anything else in his life.

“Uh, I don’t care if that’s a metaphor or if it’s real slogan y’all had going on back then, but it’s really serious. There are still some people who aren’t okay with being gay.” Peter’s heartbeat was picking up again, and the fact that James still wasn’t looking at him didn’t help at all. “And, it’s no one’s business, really. What I do, what I feel. So you _really_ can’t tell.”

“I think that was a slogan, but it still applies. I won’t tell, I promise.” He finally peered up at the teenager. “Does your Aunt know?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never said it, but it’s not like she’s clueless; I kind of make it obvious. But I’m still a little freaked out about saying it out loud.” Peter admitted. “Like… she goes to the Pride Parade every year, so I don’t logically have anything to be worried about, but then she might stop letting me have Ned sleep over. Or she’ll, like, start petitioning that they change the sex ed curriculum so I learn stuff about it. Oh, God, and if they don’t change it then she’d try to _teach me_. Ew.”

There was too much in that sentence to pick out. “There is a gay parade?” James inquired.

“Yep.”

“…like an orgy?”

Peter choked. “What?! No! It’s a _parade_.” He yelled, fully turning around in his chair. “Wh- how do you even know what an orgy is? That definitely wasn’t the word for it in the forties!”

An accusatory finger was pointed at the Super Soldier, who just scoffed, completely ignoring Peter’s confusion. “I don’t really know how I know anything. But, the gay parade––what do you even do there? Be gay?”

“You, like, wear beads and paint yourself rainbow! It’s like Mardis Gras.” Peter could only hope that the other man wouldn’t point out that Mardis Gras probably was orgy-based, historically. “You know what, we’re done with this conversation. I think you get it.”

James nodded, slightly amused that Peter was so mortified. Kids really _did_ get to be kids these days, thinking that James wouldn’t know anything about sex after being around for the past hundred years. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Hot guys are tall, the gay parade is not an orgy, and don’t tell anyone about this conversation.”

“In fact, let’s just forget about it altogether. We’re never talking about this again.”

Peter could’ve prayed for them to just stay silent, but James relentless non-chalant attitude, just kept on going. “So, if it’s really a secret mission, then why am I invited to suits at 10:00 a.m.?” James asked

“I don’t know. Do you not want to go?”

The Super Soldier ran his brush down the inside of the canvas, in a thick, blue line. “Suits… It’s science; it’s in the lab. I don’t think it will be a secret mission. Either way, not sure what I’ll have to bring to the table. I’m not allowed to touch science or weapons.”

“Just because you don’t know a ton about science doesn’t mean you shouldn’t come. You want to hang out with Tony and I, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then come. It’ll be fun. And do _not_ tell Mr. Stark that we talked about _anything_ about me being gay.”

James frowned. “I thought you said he knew.”

“Yeah, but he’s going to try to talk to me about puberty or something. Don’t tell him that I like tall guys either, that gives too much insight into my psyche and I don’t need Mr. Stark knowing that. It’s embarrassing. Got it?”

“Got it.” James paused, and moved his brush over the canvas as he considered all of this new information. So, two people who he knew were gay. That was a surprise. None of them were in the military, there were plenty of women around them… It really wasn’t about not having women around. “Who else is gay? Are there others?”

“What, am I the only gay guy on the planet? I think I’d just find another one.” Peter snickered. “No, plenty of people are gay. The security guard, Rick. He’s married to a guy, but I’m not sure if he’s gay. Ned is gay––he’s my friend––oh, and the one SHIELD agent who follows you around, he’s gay.”

“He is?”

“Yes. But you should never attempt to make conversation about, this by the way. These aren’t, like, fun facts about people. It’s just normal stuff.”

James shook his head. “You think I’d go up to someone and talk about them being gay?”

“I don’t know how socializing worked in the forties.”

“You make it sound like another world.” It kind of was, James would recognize, but it wasn’t _that_ different. “What about Keen-whatever. The handsome one who’s too old for you. The celebrity. Is he gay?”

“I wish. But there are other celebrities who are. Ellen DeGeneres, the one with the talk show you watch?” Peter nodded, “she’s gay.”

“What? She’s a woman.”

The teenager came to a full stop. “…yeah.”

“…but… Gay is two men?”

“Technically, she’s a _Lesbian._ That’s a girl who likes girls. But it’s easier not to clarify in casual conversation, I think. Anyone can be gay.” There was so much that James just didn’t know. So many tiny things, that just hadn’t been relevant up until now. What else didn’t he know? “James… has anyone really sat you down and gone through the basic changes of the world? Did… Did HYDRA give you, like, an update on what’s happened besides with… whatever they wanted you to do?”

Though it was just a little, James shifted in his seat, more guarded than usual. “Education wasn’t their top priority.” He didn’t want to talk about it, they both knew. He never bothered to hide when he wasn’t ready to talk about something. “Besides, I don’t think that gay people would’ve been top subject.” He took a breath, trying to ignore Peter’s question.

But the teenager quietly tiptoed around the subject. “Did… did anyone tell you about, like, the basics? Mr. Stark says that the goal is to get you so that you’re ready to go on missions and be on your own, so it might be good to do some catching up.”

“Don’t need to catch up. I’ve been here the whole time. Just ‘cause HYDRA had me doesn’t mean that I wasn’t on my own at all. In fact, I was alone most of the time.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Did… can you type?”

“Huh?”

“Can you type? Like on a computer?”

James rolled his eyes. “Did just fine on a typewriter.”

Peter couldn’t imagine trying to get through life without knowing how to type fast. The job struggles, the school struggles… he’d never typed on a typewriter before, but it was probably just as good. “Did you get to see the moon landing? Did they tell you cigarettes cause cancer, and that Pluto isn’t a planet anymore?”

“What’re you going on about?”

“I… you missed a lot, is all. It just sucks.”

James huffed. “Just because no one mentioned the advances of _gay_ doesn’t mean I don’t know anything.”

“That’s not- _gay_ isn’t really a thing on it’s own. Homosexuality.”

“Bigger words make it worse.” James grunted, and all Peter could do was shake his head. “I think I’ll do just fine. I saw the news every once in a while. Stole time away from HYDRA.” The Soldier shrugged.

“What do you mean?”

“I had plenty of time to kill people,” he still looked at his painting, not bothering to pretend to be ashamed. “I used to turn on the TV after. Just for thirty seconds. Just to see, before I left. Everything I did was made to look like accidents, so they usually happened in people’s houses. I could just sit down, only for a minute, and watch the TV. See the world.” He didn’t feel sorry about that. Not directly, and only in retrospect. He felt nothing.

There were many vivid memories––snapping scenes of blonde newscastors with solemn faces. Those moments kept him alive. He killed so that he could take that minute, look in on the world. It was always his favorite when he got to kill them in their houses, where he could steal from their pantries and turn on their televisions.

“Kind of sucked, but I saw a little bit. I know the moon landing. I was excited for that.” The prospects of seeing the moon were mind-blowing at the time, James could remember it vividly.

“You were happy?”

“We got to the moon, and I got to see it.” He cracked his knuckles again. “That was a good day, and I didn’t kill anyone that day.”

“So how’d you see it?”

“I was waiting in their house for them to come home and I watched it on their TV.”

“Oh.” Peter was quiet. That was outright terrifying. James was a _huge_ man. Enormous, really. He was tall and his shoulders were like a million feet apart. Whoever stood against him, they had no chance… “You used to wait for them in their living rooms?”

“If Handler told me to.” The word tasted metallic on his tongue. He took a deep breath and counted. “I remember seeing something about gay people on the TV. I don’t think I understood it at the time, but I think it’s when you could get married.”

“You saw that? It was only a couple years ago.”

“Yeah. That was a hard day. The man who they wanted me to kill, I was conflicted.”

Peter looked down at his toes. “You felt conflicted… even through everything they did?”

“I didn’t feel conflicted because there was a tiny part of me that wanted to be good. I was completely free of HYDRA’s mental control, sometimes. That was one of those times. But I still needed to kill him, or they would kill me. I knew my mind wouldn’t last long.” He sighed. “But either way, that wasn’t what I was worried about. I was conflicted because I _wanted_ to kill him. I agreed with HYDRA, and that scared the hell out of me.”

“You _agreed_ with HYDRA?” Peter set his pencil down.

It was rare that James ever talked about his time with HYDRA, and if he ever did, it wasn’t in front of Peter. Mr. Stark’s concern for _protecting the kids_ had spread, and James didn’t want to freak Peter out. The fact that he considered Peter adult enough to hear about it definitely piqued his interest, and his pride.

“The man was evil. I… I can’t remember what he did, but I still feel angry at him. I feel hatred. Maybe he was a Nazi, I don’t know. But then HYDRA wouldn’t have had me kill him.” James continued. “Maybe he was a Nazi who ran away, left the other Nazis behind. I would be mad because he’d been a Nazi in the first place, they would’ve been mad because he wasn’t a Nazi anymore. I think I only could’ve hated someone like that if they were a Nazi.”

“Was the guy old? There aren’t many original Nazis around, and if it happened only a couple years ago…”

James continued without thought, “no, he had a baby.”

“What? He had a baby?”

The Super Solder stopped. “Oh. He had a baby. I remember that. I didn’t think… I didn’t think I remembered anything about him. But he was the one with the baby. The baby whose cradle was empty, and I don’t know why…” He sighed. “I had this memory before I started BARF, of this empty cradle. I was always afraid that they had me take the baby, or hurt it. But… I don’t feel like that when I think of it now. Knowing it was on the day the gay people got their marriages… to the man who I didn’t like.” He finally set his brush aside, and bit his lip. “Maybe the man hurt his baby. Maybe he kidnapped that baby, and I hated him for it.”

“…like, he was a human trafficker?”

“Maybe. Does that happen a lot?” James asked.

“Around the world, yeah. I hear about it a lot, but I’ve never actually seen it. At least, I hope not.” Peter let out a huge breath of air. “Hey, if that guy was a human trafficker, do you think his business is still around? Maybe you should tell Mr. Stark about it, to see if he could find out why HYDRA was involved. They seem like they should’ve been the kind of people to love human trafficking.”

“Yeah, that’s very HYDRA.”

Peter snorted. “’s on-brand for them.” Finally, he looked over at his phone and saw that Mr. Stark had texted him he was on his way home, and Miss Potts was ready in the kitchen. “You ready to go help cook?”

“I’m not allowed to touch knives or boiling water.”

“…you can rinse potatoes.”

* * *

James was still confused when he left the art room, but he didn’t know why he was confused. Peter liked men, not like women liked pants, but like James liked women. It was that same feeling, according to the teenager. Nothing strange, and nothing new. The only thing that was new was that people were talking about it…

When it was in words, it seemed simple enough. And yet it was just unfathomable. Like… men with each other. So, this wasn’t just something that James heard of once and had been trying to stop thinking about ever since. This wasn’t just a _maybe Tony’s like this_ situation. Peter had pointed out so much to him!

It wasn’t just Tony, it was Peter. It wasn’t just them, it was the secretary at the front desk of SHIELD, who he saw every time he went to write his letters in the park. The ladies in white, in the photo by her computer, they were her and her wife. He thought they were just friends. And the lady with the blonde hair on TV, she was gay. She was the one with the clothes like a man.

Peter said that that _did not_ ‘explain it’ as James, had said, and in fact, that was a stereotype. But James thought that it _did_ explain it. It made sense now why she dressed like a man, if she liked women like a man.

“Dressing like a man does not make you gay.” The teenager tried to tell him.

“…but she _does_ dress like a man.”

“No such thing as boy clothes and girl clothes,” Peter chimed, “we’re not in kindergarten.”

“Yes, there are.”

“No, there aren’t. That’s just what advertisements tell you.”

He shook his head. “Guys wear guy clothes. Girls wear girl clothes.” Finally, Peter came to a full stop on the way up the stairs.

“Alright,” Peter announced, “how about this: you can think that way, but you just need to consider that _questioning knowledge_ that we take for granted is how we can think for ourselves. Maybe we’re not having HYDRA breathe down our necks, but that doesn’t mean that we’re not in a place where people are trying to influence us. We can’t get all our information from how we were raised. We have to think outside the box. So you don’t have to get it right away––this’s gotta be complicated for you––but you should at least _wonder_.”

“Wonder what?”

The teenager really tried not to be disheartened by this. As they made their way back towards the kitchen, he rolled out the train of thought and tried to best explain his thinking to James. “Why we think the things that we do. Like, why do you think that ‘mens clothes’ are men’s clothes? What makes them men’s clothes?”

“I don’t know. They just are.”

“Exactly. That’s not a good enough answer.” Peter exclaimed. “We should have real reasons for things. Never take any knowledge for granted.”

This was interesting, if not confusing. He had believed Steve, never questioned Steve. That had backfired. Then, he hadn’t believed or trusted Tony, and as a result had gotten to make his own choice about his feelings… So, the process worked then. Maybe it just seemed a little useless to try it on questioning clothing. “…I’ll think about it.”

“And meanwhile, I will be doing all the hard work because SHIELD is full of dicks who won’t just let you chop the carrots-“

Walking into the kitchen, Pepper outright exclaimed upon seeing the resident Super Soldier towering over a teenage boy. “Oh! You got your hair cut? How?!” She demanded.

James frowned. “Tony.”

The woman could smell a suspicious situation from a mile away. She honed in on the fridge, making a B-line for the two men standing there. “How did he let you cut your hair? You said they weren’t going to allow it.”

This was much to consider, for James. While he may not have been the most adept in social situations, he could still recognize an accusatory tone when he heard one. With narrowed eyes he sighed and turned around, just reaching for food in the fridge instead of letting it show that Pepper bothered him. “Tony let me cut it off. You do realize, though, that consider how I’m standing here and everything’s fine, that there’s nothing nefarious about me having short hair.” He quipped, a little annoyed. This woman was just coming at him for no reason. If he’d snuck out of the building to go do some dangerous hair-cutting business, why would he have come back and paraded it around?

To the side, reaching into his backpack to grab his homework so he would have something to do other than focus on this _very_ awkward exchange, Peter’s eyes lit up. Woah, he had never heard anything like that before. James… James was defending himself! If it weren’t a hopeless situation (Miss Potts always got what she wanted) then Peter might actually be a little proud. Well, he _was_ proud!

Mr. Stark had told him to be on the lookout for defining changes to James’ behavior. Did this count?

Pepper scoffed. Oh no, this guy was _not_ trying to act like a clear violation of rules was no big deal! He was on the cusp of a mental breakdown at any point in time––how could he not be? She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the side. “Just because Tony is reckless enough to break the government’s rules does not make it a smart thing to do. What if something had gone wrong? What if SHIELD had noticed that you were gone?”

“There was a barber on one of the lower levels,” James just barely tried to lie.

“That’s not true.”

“You’re right.”

Pepper groaned. “Did he take you all the way into the city? People are going to be pissed if they find out he’s putting them in danger again. That’s where the Avengers always fight!”

All that James could possibly manage to do was roll his eyes. God, was this woman ever going to give it up? They didn’t even know one another! “Somehow, I get the feeling that nothing I say is going to convince you that I’m not a threat. Do you think that I’d just go waltzing around the city knowing that SHIELD would drop a bomb five miles wide on me if they found out?”

“You _are_ a threat. Tony has been through enough; you’ve _put him_ through enough! It doesn’t matter if you have to work on yourself. Tony has to be safe. You should’ve stayed at SHIELD instead of putting his life and _emotional_ health in danger!”

Finally, he spun around. “What the hell are you even talking about? You’re blaming me for things that I had no control over!”

“-it doesn’t matter how much control HYDRA had over you-“

“I didn’t have a choice about staying at SHIELD! They told me if I wanted a cure, then I’d be going to the Compound. SHIELD dropped me off here in a fucking plane.” He cried. “It didn’t matter to me that Tony was probably going to kill me the second I got off it, I just wanted to get better!”

She blinked. “You were supposed to go to SHIELD, but Tony said plans changed. Didn’t you choose to come here instead…where security would be lighter?”

“He literally has a whole lady in his ceiling watching me!” He let out a sigh and leaned his head back. “I’m done arguing. You don’t have to like me or care about me, but the fact is that you clearly don’t know anything about the situation. That had nothing to do with me. Telling me I’m a dangerous murderer isn’t _news_ to me. I know what I’ve done and I wouldn’t be here if I thought I was going to go crazy and kill a bunch of civilians. Did it ever occur to you that I don’t _like_ being out of my mind? I don’t _like_ that I’m being supervised by a guy I’m 50 fifty fucking years older than? I don’t want to endanger anyone, and you getting pissed is surely not going to help.”

By now, Peter had practically crawled away to his room, terrified of emotional confrontation. Pepper was being kind of a dick, but he didn’t at all have the guts to stand up to her. Not in front of James, not when it would be singling her out. He was much better at going to people after confrontation to have an open conversation.

He only caught the end of the exchange as he was going out of the room.

“Tony is my top priority, James.”

“It’s not like he means nothing to me.”

“But you came here for yourself, to get HYDRA out of your mind. He can’t be your top priority. _You_ have to be your top priority.”

James grumbled, “What’s the point of any of this if I can’t look out for someone and myself?”

“You have to be here for yourself. And that’s dangerous for Tony, because he also needs to look out for himself. He can’t start caring about you.”

Peter left before he could hear the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even longer than the last one oop I’m doing better. You should all know that I’m trying to center James’ feelings around new social concepts as just one thing: stubborn confusion. He’s aware that he doesn’t know anything, but the few things that he was sure of are now being turned around, and he’s not sure how to feel about it. Tell me what you think!
> 
> Comments are really the reason I’m still going with this story, even though it’s such a slow burn that it’s not super popular. I still appreciate every view!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suits in the lab, James finds a woman coming out of Tony’s bedroom, arm!, Mr. Stark puts a stop to Peter’s plans, self-care, James wants a job, James and Steve are in a relationship?, and FRIDAY can’t tell the difference between pain and sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Longer than the last one, which is why it took me so long. I think I'm going to go back and edit previous chapters. For updates on the story, you can go to my tumblr!
> 
> Also I'm adding to the original tags.
> 
> And a reminder for those of you who don't follow the rest of what I do, my name is Tal!

James was getting better at choices. Food was easier; he knew what he liked and he knew how he felt about colors in his art, but clothes were a mystery to him. Peter had said that haircuts were a part of _style_ , and that this new haircut made him look _suave_. It was supposed to be a compliment, he thought, but it honestly confused him further. Now in this year, when _style_ was important, was he supposed to have clothes that matched his hair? Was he supposed to dress _suave_?

Peter had a teenager haircut, and he dressed like a teenager. Pepper had pretty hair and she dressed pretty. Even though she was a total dick, she was still terrifying, and very beautiful. Tony had his haircut and dressed like him. Actually, James wasn’t sure how to make sense of what Tony dressed like. Sometimes suits and Tuxes, sometimes a t-shirt and sweatpants. Too complex to understand…

So…what would match James’ haircut? He had hair that the barber told him to put stuff in, to style it. And he did. It was now part of his routine, for the last two days. It felt comfortable. What would go with hair that he put stuff in? His hair looked like he took care of it, with the stuff in it—a big change from his dirty HYDRA bunker haircut—so should he dress like he puts effort into it too?

Maybe it would help him pick something out if he knew what other people wore, or what they’d be doing today. “FRIDAY, are you sure that you can’t tell me more about what we’re doing in the lab today?” James asked as he stood in front of his closet. There were mostly long-sleeve things, some tailored to match where his am used to be.

_“Boss says that it is a surprise.”_

James rolled his eyes, a habit that Peter had gotten him into. It was stupid and teenagery, but it felt strangely nice to express himself like that. How often did he get to be _sassy_?

Anyway, what should he wear? There were tons and tons of long sleeve shirts, some with knitted string, some with workout-material. He had already gone for his run and his usual trip down to the punching bags in the morning, so he didn’t need anything athletic. The last time he wore a sweater, one with the knitting, it itched a lot, but Miss Potts complimented him. Maybe it was backhanded (he couldn’t remember), but he remembered something positive being said about it. He definitely liked that. She was pretty even if she was a dick. But she wasn’t going to be here today, and he’d given up on getting her to like him.

He hummed to himself and reached out for the nearest one. It was generic, tight but not uncomfortable, solid colored and soft. He had three of them: red, blue, and black. What was the real difference? Which was he supposed to choose? He made such a point about having options, but options were overwhelming. What if halfway through the day he decided he didn’t like the color?

“FRIDAY…I can’t choose a color.” He sighed.

_“Would you like me to choose for you?”_

“Mmmm…no. I need to get better at choosing for myself, but what’s the difference really? It’s just color. I don’t like the bright red because it reminds me of HYDRA, but this is Maroon. And…I don’t have any thoughts on blue or black.”

 _“Perhaps you should choose your pants first. Then you can choose a shirt accordingly.”_ The AI suggested. Things like this were a challenge for her also. There were no algorithms to run, no complicated tests which she could make sense of with her Super brain. These were small options, small decisions to be made, and she was created for bigger things. Working on small choices with James tested her boundaries, and she loved it. “Have you chosen pants?”

James nodded. “Yeah. The ones that’re tight at the ankles. I know I like those.”

 _“Joggers.”_ FRIDAY supplied. _“The only pair that you have are black. I have heard Boss say that people should not wear dark blue with black because it “clashes”. And I have heard Miss Potts say that Boss should not wear black on black.”_

Perhaps this information would be most helpful. James found it easiest when having other opinions to compare his feelings to. “Well, I don’t know what “clashing” means, but it doesn’t sound good. So, red, then.” He looked at the red shirt in his hands. It wasn’t bright like HYDRA, no. It…it was like Tony’s metal suits. Maybe he would like it.

“Does Tony like red?”

_“Yes. He paints a majority of his suits that color.”_

James grinned. He wasn’t making his decision based on Tony’s favorite color, no. That would be unproductive to his healing process. Instead, he is deciding that he _agrees_. The dark red color is warm and burning, like the wine that Tony had let him try the other day. Pepper had fiercely objected—they were all sitting at the table going over documents for Bucky’s arm work related to SI—but he’d tried it anyway. It didn’t make him feel much, and it was gross, but his throat was warmer after. It wasn’t his first time having it, but it would probably be his last.

That’s what this shirt was. Wine with Tony.

He slipped it over his head and began to make his way downstairs. So far today he had accomplished a lot. He’d worked out, broken a punching bag, told FRIDAY he broke a punching bag and felt really bad, put his finishing touches on another painting, tried a new food from Mexico that he didn’t end up liking, and had made a new list of goals. It was short, but it made him feel like he was going somewhere.

But now there was no time to think about that. He was going to look at _suits_. Do science. Something. He still wasn’t sure what this was. Every other time he’d been with Tony in the lab it had had to do with his arm, or he was bored and emotionally stunted. This was like an intrusion, like Rhodes and Tony were two friends and James was just going to third-wheel.

“FRIDAY, I’m supposed to go down now, right?”

_“Yes. Colonel Rhodes is not there yet; Boss requested that you join him first.”_

James frowned. “Why?”

_“I still cannot tell you.”_

“That’s annoying.” He sighed and opened the double doors leading down to the lab. As soon as they were open—they slid up into the wall above his head; it was very impressive—he was met with the sight of Tony sitting on the ground playing fetch with his bots.

“Oh, hey!” The mechanic called, grinning ear-to-ear. “Glad you could make it. I thought you’d be on a run right now.”

“I run at six in the morning.” James recited thoughtlessly. “FRIDAY told me that you wanted me here before Colonel Rhodes.”

“Ah, yes.” Tony turned on his heel and got to his feet, bots whirring in sadness as he left their game. James threw the wrench one last time for them and they chased after it, claws extended forward. The mechanic pulled his attention over to a screen. “So, I know how you are about _choices_ , and I want to respect that. I was going to give you this as a Christmas present, but Dr. Medonza suggested that you should see it first in an environment you’re comfortable in, not in Malibu.”

James frowned. “Does it have to do with HYDRA?” He was always prepared for bad news.

Tony snorted and gestured over to a screen in front of him. “It’s your arm.” On the blue digital page was an intricate outline and design of an arm, one which would either look very human or very robotic, based on if it would be shiny metal or skin.

“Wow,” James marveled. “Arm…”

“Yes. It’s equipped with everything that you need, including nerves. This is just an outline ‘cause it’s being buffed right now, but there it is!””

“I has nerves?”

“Yep. You’ll be able to _feel_ with your arm! All the nerve damage in your shoulder should be repaired after a week in this thing, and everything should work out perfectly. Since we’re going to be in Malibu, I wanted to give you some choices here instead of giving it to you on Christmas day. You can have it put in now, as soon as possible, and stay here so that there’s the least possible chance of it triggering you.”

Tony had been planning on having just designs out by now, but he’d gotten a little arm-happy and just went ahead and built it instead of doing his SI work.

“So soon?” They leave in three days! He figured they’d be trying it out there. “I can’t try it in Malibu?”

“Definitely not advisable. By my calculations, there shouldn’t be any physical pain with the new arm, but I can’t calculate emotional factors. If you want to wait a couple weeks, you probably shouldn’t go to Malibu. Because the trip got extended. Three weeks. And that’d probably be _too_ long to wait.” He said, turning to the man to face him head-on. “You don’t have to choose now, but I just wanted to let you know. It’s a lot, but it should be really good.”

Oh. James had been looking forward to Malibu, kind of. A new place, new weather. It sounded like a healthy choice. But the idea of having an arm so soon made him kind of nervous. “I…” he shook his head. “I was really looking forward to Malibu with you; it sounded fun and I didn’t think that anyone should be alone on Christmas,” Tony wasn’t sure which one of them the Super Soldier was referring to. Maybe both. “but I would really like a new arm. Being able to move again! It sounds too good to be true…” he muttered. “I think… I think I’d rather do it sooner.”

Tony’s heart ached. He had also been looking forward to being alone with James. Not that he was going to make a move or do something drastic, but God he didn’t want to be away from him that long! He would…he would _miss_ James. But like Rhodey so rudely told him, James’ comfort and health had to come first.

“It would be within the next two days. Are you okay with that?” James nodded. “Okay. We’ll get ready for it tomorrow, so you’ll have some time to prepare yourself. Get some sleep, drink a lot of water, get in a good mindset.” He smiled. “And in the meantime, you can play with suits with me. We’re picking out designs to make them look cool.”

Just as he said that, the doors slid open once again and the other two moved to join them. “Red! Always make it red!” Peter called. “Can we make an Iron Man suit covered in spiders? Like a collab between us?” He beamed.

“An awfully tacky idea,” Tony chimed, “but I’ll humor you. I was just showing James his new arm; what do you guys think? Silver, red?” He was looking at James as he asked, wanting to make it clear that it was, in fact, his decision, but they all liked to entertain Peter by giving him a pretend-say in what happened.

“Silver is fine, like my last one.” James said.

“Oh, but you should go with something cool! Like all white!”

“It’ll get dirty.”

“But when you clean it, it’ll look cool.”

As Peter began getting out suits, clicking his hands into little metal pieces so that it accepted his hand as its own, James shrugged a little. “Um, if I feel fine once my arm’s in, can I still go to Malibu?”

Tony’s heart hurt. “Of course.”

* * *

Thanksgiving went by pleasantly. Aunt May liked James, just as Peter had hoped, and Rhodey kept Pepper occupied for most of dinner. For the first time in (literally) a century, all was calm within James Barnes.

* * *

The first time that James ran into a woman sneaking out of Tony’s bedroom, he very nearly lost his shit. All he’d wanted was to see if he could find a vacuum in the Compound without asking FRIDAY (he was warned about becoming too dependent on her). But instead, there was this _woman_. A five-foot-four dark-skinned girl who at first glance, he was sure was here to assassinate someone.

She was dressed in only a blue robe, bare-footed and peering around the corner to see if she’d run into anyone on the way out. He was walking on his merry way, and smacked directly into her, chest first.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, clutching the cloth around her bare body.

With one glance at her, seeing that she was an unsuspecting and innocent person, he immediately looked away. God, she didn’t have any clothes on besides the robe! “Uh, you’re naked.” Oh, thank goodness that he had his manners and it was still his first instinct to look away respectfully.

“Ah, yes, I am,” she laughed awkwardly. “Um, I was looking to see if Tony was still here. I’m going to head out and wanted to remind him about some stuff…” she stumbled out, regaining her balance on the beam of the stair railing. “Have you seen him?”

“No…” He shrugged, “I was just looking for a vacuum… Um, he left you here?”

She gave a half laugh. “Just as I prefer. When you see him, will you tell Tony that his vase is still broken?”

James gave an uncomfortable smile “sure,” and as soon as he could, he walked off to the kitchen.

Wow.

He used to be like that, a new girl with him every night; but he wasn’t sure that he’d ever just leave them in his apartment. What if she stole something? What if she ran into Peter, who Tony was always so eager to keep safe? “FRIDAY,” he whispered while walking down the stairs, “how does Tony know that people won’t steal from him when he leaves them here?”

 _“I would not allow that to happen.”_ She didn’t want to get offended by the fact that James believed something as weak as petty theft could actually pose a problem to _her_. It was a time-culture difference, she expected. “It has never been a problem before, despite how many people he brings home.”’

“Oh…” He frowned. “Does he do that often?”

“I am not sure how often average people do it.”

While he busied himself in front of the stove, attempting to bring to life a recipe he’d found on Pinterest––Peter’s favorite website––the woman came into the kitchen, this time fully dressed. She was leaning over, putting an earring in as she went. Giving an awkward smile, she set her bag on the counter so she could get another gold piece through her ear.

“Uh,” James said after a moment, “do you want an egg?” In his pan was an extra egg over easy, made for Peter, but he was probably late anyway. The kid was never on time, and James needed to practice making as many things as he could.

She raised a brow. “You’re quite the roommate, offering breakfast so early.”

“You’re quite the stranger in my kitchen,” he laughed with a shrug. “I’m not sure about the etiquette for this, and I have plenty of food.”

“I’d love an egg.” She relented, moving to sit down in a chair. “I would’ve thought this would be a common thing for Tony Stark; you haven’t done this before?”

Fixated on the pan in front of him, James didn’t look her way. He hadn’t given any thought to if Tony was with people here or not. It had never even occurred to him, though that seemed naïve now. Of course Tony brought people home. “I think I’m just out when people normally leave.”

He moved egg from plate and cracked another in the bowl. As she watched him hand her the fork, she looked at the wide plane of his shoulders. They looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Are you Spider-Man?” She finally asked.

“Huh?”

“You’re in Tony’s house. This is an Avengers-only place.”

James squirmed a little. Oh, he wasn’t allowed to tell people who he was… “Well, you’re also here, and I don’t think you’re Spider-Man… So, no, I’m not Spider-Man. Tony’s building me an arm. I lost mine in the war.”

“Oh, you’re a veteran. Where were you stationed?”

Shit. He really was worse at lying than he used to be. He couldn’t even remember where the US was currently involved. “Uh, you know. All around. Top secret. So, what’s your name?” He desperately needed to change the subject, he sucked so bad at this.

She leaned forward and tried the egg. “I’m Jasmine…” But she wasn’t going to let the conversation drop. Not in an uncomfortable or prying manner, but just playfully. “So, Tony makes you an arm and you cook for him?”

He shrugged. Really, he wasn’t sure what Tony got out of this. “Mostly I just sit here and look pretty.” It seemed easy to talk to someone, to make small talk, when he knew that she would be gone soon.

“Sounds ideal.”

How did this even work nowadays? Did she walk home, did she take the sidewalk all the way to her apartment? Back when he was growing up, he could only ever be with women who were closeby. He never wanted to worry about them getting home.

“How are you going to get home, do you live nearby?”

“I suppose I’ll call an Uber.”

He frowned. “But people get murdered in Ubers…” It was all over the news, all of the time! For the life of him, James couldn’t figure out why people kept getting into them!

She made a sound of confusion. “Uh, yeah… I guess.”

FRIDAY sounded off, _“I have called for a personal driver for you, Jasmine. Ubers are unsafe.”_

The girl shifted a little, not sure where to look. “Tony’s still got the AI?”

“Do you, like, know him well?”

She grinned, “we meet up every year at the Stark Expo.”

James didn’t want to think about what ‘meeting up’ was.

* * *

Peter had goals. Ambitions. M.I.T, stable income, eventually get a pet frog… why didn’t James have any goals like that? All he wanted was to get through the day. But as Thanksgiving passed, a pleasant meal between people who only half knew each other, he began to hear about holidays all the way to New Year’s. New Year’s, and so soon! And at New Year’s, the goals were called _resolutions._

“It’s better to keep your goals small,” the teenager noted after James said that he wanted his mind to be completely healed by January, “getting magically better because of B.A.R.F seems a little challenging. How about you choose something smaller? Maybe… to eat a salad twice a week?”

“Physical health isn’t really a problem for me.”

Peter considered this. “Right, you’re already a damn body builder,” he muttered, “oh! How about you make a resolution to go and _do something_. Like, go back to school, get a part-time job. You could go do stuff with the army. I know Mr. Stark is always fending off military people who want to talk to you.”

James lifted his head. “Maybe not military, while I’m getting used to my arm. But I could get a job. Go back to school. That would be really good, actually. I like learning history with you, and with most high-ranking military positions you need to have gone to college. I can get used to my arm while getting a degree, and then when I’m better I can go back into the military.” It was strange, the fact that he was so comfortable with that idea considering he hadn’t even wanted to join the military back when he first had. It was the damn draft that he hated, pulling him away from his sister. But now he didn’t have a sister, so what was stopping him? “Plus, I only have money from being MIA. And that kind of feels like cheating out other military people. I mean, I was alive the whole time and Rebecca didn’t even use any of the money.”

“Your sister didn’t use it?”

“No. Instead, she got married right after I left. Undoubtedly against her will, just to stay alive.” He grunted. “But anyway, college would be good. And a job, too.”

Finally, the Spider-boy hopped up from his position on the couch, where they’d been laying for the last three hours while eating popcorn and doing essentially nothing, and went to grab the tablet from the counter. “Alright, then let’s do this. We’re going to make you a resumé. FRIDAY, can you pull up whatever kind of military accomplishments James has and put it on one? It’ll take forever to remember them all.”

Oh, but what about that girl in the kitchen? Talking to her had brought up a fact which James rarely remembered. “But I’m not allowed to really let people know who I am. You know, top secret.”

“No one will question a military man,” Peter waved a hand and rolled over onto his stomach, “alright, did you graduate high school?”

“Yes.”

“College?”

“Never went.”

The teen clicked away, and James shoved himself closer so that he could read what was on the screen. As Peter added little miniscule accomplishments, more and more lines of automated text came up, filled in my FRIDAY. Why had they ever given him this many awards? All he’d done was just disappear.

“Do you know how fast you can type? We’ll have you take a test. Hopefully you’re, like, really fast.”

James snorted, “yeah. I don’t think so. And all my job references are dead.”

“But you don’t have a criminal record. It could be worse! So, we’re going to lie and say that you can type eighty-five words a minute, and that you’ve held a _medium-level_ and _private_ position at SI for security. And that you were a POW in Iraq, and that’s why you’re like thirty and haven’t had a job. I will add myself as a reference, my fake SI internship email. And I’ll change my little signature thingy so it says I’m a little higher up than an intern.”

Peter could just picture the story in his head: military hero captured for years in a war-torn country, escaped and made it to a mediocre position at a good company. It would be rude to question it, and James had a totally military-like tattoo on his left leg that would convince them.

“No one’s going to believe that. I don’t even own a tie.”

“When in doubt, just give them a war story. They’ll either want you to stop talking and shut you up by giving you the job, or they’ll like it and you’ll actually impress them.” Peter handed over the tablet. “Look at _that_. That’s your fake identity, James Karnes, war hero who can easily lift boxes for nine dollars an hour.”

The Super Soldier shook his head. “This how veterans get treated nowadays?”

“This is how most people who are twenty eight and have no other jobs on their resumes get treated. Welcome to America! And actually, I think you’ll do pretty well once I write a fake recommendation letter from John Smith at SI, who says you’re an outstanding worker with an inspiring story.”

It felt wrong to do something which was so blatantly immoral, but he only wanted a three-week, menial job. “Does lying really work?”

“Yep. Now you just have to go ask Mr. Stark to get you into a college without any transcripts!”

* * *

Tony wasn’t sure what he expected to come home to, but this wasn’t it. Peter and James were both sitting _on_ the kitchen counter, throwing grapes into each other’s mouths from six feet away, while Peter read random words off of the tablet.

“Barista? No, your coffee is bad. Cashier?”

“I could do that.”

“Oh! Bouncer! That’s perfect!”

The mechanic set down his bag and walked in closer. “What’re you guys doing?”

They both turned around in surprise, and Peter immediately giggled. “We’re finding James a job for when you guys are in Malibu. I think he should be a bouncer.”

“What’s a bouncer?” James asked.

“It’s like you stop people from getting into clubs if they’re ugly.” Peter said nonchalantly, and turned to face Tony. “Mr. Stark, do you think James could take college courses without having high school transcripts? I could make them up, all B’s, and he could take them online.”

Tony’s mind spun. “Woah, I leave you two alone for a _day_ and you’re lying about high school transcripts and trying to get James to be a bouncer? I thought you were gonna have a movie marathon, not commit crime.” He went to take the tablet in Peter’s hands and looked at the supposed job opening for a bouncer in Malibu. “It’s three weeks, you can’t just take a job there for three weeks.”

“They need someone to fill in for someone who got injured!”

Grapes set aside, James slid off the counter and landed on his socked feet, deciding to move the conversation away from what Tony disapproved of. “How was your meeting? Did you get everything out of the way for Malibu?”

“Yeah, I did.” He eyed them warily, “and I see you did too. Is this a fake resumé?”

“It’s mostly real.”

“You can’t admit that you bench that much. It’s not supposed to be physically possible,” Tony deleted the stupid number from the sixteenth line and looked back up. “Since when did you want a job? You were a Sargeant, you shouldn’t be a _bouncer_ now.”

“Well I need to be doing more things, becoming independent. I’m not ready for military yet ‘cause I’ve got my new arm, so I figured I’d get a job and go to school until I’m ready. That way when I go back in, I can get a higher rank. Cause ya need degrees to be high-ranking now.” He shrugged and put the bag of grapes back into the fridge. “I’m not sure about lying on grades, but I think I can get into a community college without a full transcript. Hopefully.”

“I’ll have FRIDAY see what she can do, but you can’t be overworking yourself, James. Your new arm’s going in in two days and then we’re leaving for Malibu. You’re not going to use my million-dollar arm to keep LSD-infused teenagers from hitting each other at a club,” Tony set the tablet down and pushed Peter farther down the counter so that he had room for the rest of what was in his bag.

“Wait, million-dollar?”

Tony ignored the Super Soldier, “and when I leave you two alone, why is it that you do _this_? Can’t you go to the park and vape like normal kids?”

Peter snickered, “that’s actually not that inaccurate.”

“I’m older than you,” James tried, but Tony immediately shot him down.

“You’ve lived like, two normal years in your whole life. Great depression doesn’t count. Now go clean up my living room! I’m seeing Happy about our security plans for the trip and he’s going to judge me if I show that you two live like hooligans.”

* * *

In the morning, James received several pieces of good news. First, Happy’s cousin had a shipping business in Malibu and said he’d hire James for a few weeks of moving boxes, just as Peter had originally predicted. Second, his arm was completely ready. And third, for his last night in town James and Peter were going to catch the end of the Stark expo. There were going to be robots and food trucks and plenty of opportunities––according to Peter––to “accidentally” run into the teen’s friends, who had been dying to meet James.

After all, if the SHIELD agents knew that he was going to give out his identity to two nerds in the tenth grade, it wouldn’t go over well.

It put him in an abnormally good mood, and he found himself determined to keep the streak of positivity continuing. Today, he was going to do everything he needed to get out of the way.

At 5:00 am, he went for a run. It was crisp and cool out, but James could only sweat as he went. Side effect of being traumatized by the freezing cold of a Russian winter. So, donning nothing but a pair of shorts and his earbuds, he made some (10) laps around the Compound and then headed inside.

He checked it off his list.

Then he showered, keeping the water away from his shoulder, and indulged in something which he rarely chose to: his fist between his legs, leaning against the tiled wall. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to do this, having to chase away shadows of long-forgotten fantasies, but he guessed that it had the intended effect; even if it felt like something was off about it.

He checked it off his list––the shower part, not the personal one.

Breakfast, protein smoothies, shaving, music, attempting to sleep for another hour; this so-called _self-care_ was going well, though he would find out later that taking care of himself for the purpose of meeting requirements on a list wasn’t exactly how it was supposed to go. But FRIDAY insisted that it mainly mattered that he just got the things done. In order to get his arm in, he needed to prove to himself and his therapist that he was capable of the personal upkeep necessary to get a new limb. He needed to stop walking around feeling tense and emotionally unstable. According to the internet and to most people he talked to, these _self-care_ things would help with that. He did everything.

Until finally he walked out into the living room, looking for Peter, who he was supposed to say goodbye to before the teen left for school.

Peter was in a much different state than the clean-shaven and upright Super Soldier. The teen was thrown halfway over the couch, body held up but head falling over the side, a party-sized bag of popcorn open next to him, alarmingly empty considering that it had been opened just the previous night. Alarm sounding off on the table beside him, the boy heard nothing.

“Um, Peter-“

“I have a field trip today,” Peter interrupted, apparently awake with his eyes closed, “and I get to sleep in for another ten minutes before I’m forcing myself to get up, so _shhh_ …”

“Why is your goal always to sleep?” James droned, going to the kitchen and pouring his juice into a cup.

“Cause I’m normal. It’s way too early for me to be up. The sun’s barely out…” Peter groaned.

FRIDAY piped up. _“Needing more sleep is a sign of puberty.”_

“Oh my god, FRIDAY no!” He screeched, finally shoving his head upwards. The blood rushed down to his neck.

_“It is.”_

James snickered. “She’s right.”

“Leave me alone!”

With that, a gruff voice sounded from behind them. “What’re you yelling about? It’s too early for this, Pete.” Tony was slinking his way over to the kitchen, wearing only a pair of pajama pants. His torso was bare.

Despite himself, James stared openly. Though Tony had seen him shirtless, this was the first time that James had been on the other end. And to his surprise, though he’d heard about the _reactor_ from Peter and the news, Tony really _did_ have something in his chest. The skin all around it was covered by light scarring, healed over time, and it flowed blue with the energy from the reactor. Tony had explained the science behind the thing once, but James couldn’t remember any of it at the moment. 

His skin looked… soft. He was surprisingly muscular for someone so small. But Tony was small and powerful.

The mechanic lifted his head. “Yes, James, this is what a normal body looks like without having the muscle of a linebacker.” He stated, not facing the Super Soldier whose gaze was searing into his back. He hoped James wouldn’t notice that he got goosebumps. 

“Oh, sorry. I’ve never seen your reactor before. It… it’s very cool.” That wasn’t true. It wasn’t _cool_ at all. It was evidence of Tony’s time in the cave. It was just like James’ arm. It was almost… _creepy._ He averted his eyes.

Peter lifted his head, eyes still closed. “It’s so cool. No one in the world has been able to figure out the technology before, but Mr. Stark did it all alone in a cave!”

The Super Soldier peered over from the kitchen, head cocked to the side. Tony didn’t seem bothered that Peter had said that. He only continued moving about to get his breakfast.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping, Pete? And aren’t you usually running right now, James?" 

“Field trip.” Peter yawned.

“Shouldn’t you be headed into school then?”

_“Puberty requires that Peter get as much sleep as possible.”_

“FRIDAY!”

“And I had other stuff to do, so I ran earlier,” James muttered. He still had questions about the foreign object shoved into Tony’s chest, but didn’t ask. “Why are _you_ up so early?”

“Arm preparation.” Fiddling with the coffee machine, he thought nothing of his next question. “You wanna help? It’ll be good to get you used to the arm before it’s in.”

Thankful that Tony couldn’t see his face, James prayed not to let doubt slip in his voice long enough for his pause to be noticeable. Tony had worked so hard; how could James admit his second thoughts about it? How could he admit that though he was putting all his effort into making sure he’d be able to get his arm, he was scared beyond belief about it?

He had made his choice, been _insistent_ on it too. How could he go back on a choice he’d made?

“Sure. Maybe seeing it will make me feel better…” He lied.

“You nervous about it?” Tony inquired, trying to make his voice as casual as possible, even though he could feel his blood run cold at the notion that James wouldn’t be ready to have his arm in. He’d spent so much time on it. 

The Soldier shrugged. “Not nervous, just… I don’t know. Thinking about it.” He breathed in deep and took on a nonchalant tone, “but yeah, I’ll help you with whatever you need for it.”

“Just wanna sanitize it. It’s like when you buy new clothes. Brand new and perfect, but you should still wash it first.” Like a cat, Tony stretched his arms out to his sides and lifted them into the air. James swore he could hear the man’s wrists crack as he moved. 

Peter squealed. “Don’t do that! I can hear your joints pop!” Hands over his ears, he rolled over and fell a few inches to the floor, wishing he could fall asleep then and there. Knuckle popping wasn’t even as bad as old man joints moving! Sounds we’re getting so much worse…

FRIDAY held back a comment about how Peter’s senses were only going to get more adept as he continued through puberty.

“Alright, I have to go to the bus.” The teen groaned.

“Okay. After James’ arm, I’ll work on your sense dampeners. That’s only getting worse, huh?” Tony asked.

Peter was already struggling to his feet and reaching for his bag. “It’s fine. But you really shouldn’t pop your back like that or it’ll break.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the one telling _you_ not to do stupid shit with your body.”

Peter snorted. “Apparently that’s FRIDAY’s job, telling me about puberty…” he mumbled, and shuffled his way out the door.

As soon as they were free of the teen’s presence, Tony set down the coffee pot and rubbed his brow. “That kid’s making me nervous. Someone’s gonna sniffle too loudly and he’s just gonna lose it.”

“Are his senses usually this bad?”

“I don’t know, he’s never straight with me about it.” Tony didn’t want to sigh, because that would seem too dramatic, but he knew that Peter’s sensory issues were worsening by the second. If he didn’t get these dampeners out soon, the boy would be in crisis, and he wouldn’t admit a single thing. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

James frowned. “Why wouldn’t you just ask him?”

“Cause that little shit always says he’s fine. He had a cracked rib once and didn’t tell me he felt anything wrong. But he thinks of you as his equal, not his authority figure.” Tony yawned, poking James’ chest, “He’d tell you about it.”

Oh. James considered this. Peter had told him that he was gay, told him what he talked about with his friends, told him all his thoughts about school. Was that more a _friend_ thing than a _mentor’s-weird-roommate_ thing? 

“I guess. But he practically worships you.”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s grown up without healthcare. He’ll just lie about his injuries.”

“I get that. The depression was kind of like that, except they still thought that cigarettes were _good_ for your health, so it pretty much wasn’t worth going to the doctor.” That was an unfortunate fact that he’d learned after one of Tony’s jabs at vaping and teenagers.

“That’s the spirit.” With that, Tony finished his plate of green stuff—James could never be sure what new health kick Tony was on—and put his plate into the trash, reaching for his coffee next. “You ready to go see your arm?”

“Yeah.” A lie.

“You ready to tell me what’s really bothering you about it? I usually need to know stuff like this before I attach a new limb to someone.” As he spoke, he didn’t stop walking, giving James an excuse not to make eye contact with him.

The Super Soldier didn’t want to say what was bothering him because then it would become real. There’d be no more denying it. If he didn’t talk about it out loud, then he could keep ignoring it and just deal with the problem once the arm was in. Once he was screaming in pain again. “Um, I’m not sure. Just keep remembering how they put it in last time.” He said, only half honest.

“Is it an illogical fear, or something you need me to reassure you about? Because I think you know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

James could appreciate Tony’s candor under normal circumstances, but it made his toes curl today. Logically, he knew that Tony wasn’t bad like HYDRA, but logic had nothing to do with the fact that he still didn’t trust Tony. Or the arm. “I don’t think you’d intentionally hurt me, no. But it’s still a worry ‘a mine. I mean, I remember it so vividly. It’s harder to live with than ya’d think.”

“Not the same fact situation, but I think I can relate.”

“Because… you were in the cave and you had to put _that_ in?” He looked at the glowing in Tony’s chest. The man was still shirtless, though James suspected that he had a shirt waiting for him in the lab. It was distracting to have Tony so close to him and so _bare._

“Not necessarily. They had this shitty battery in, was gonna kill me eventually. _I_ put this in. But… it helped after a while, knowing that my friend was the one who’d put the battery in in the first place. Like, it was still something done for my true benefit. To save me. It’s not the same as when you lost your arm, I don’t think.” Tony breathed out quietly. “I’m saying… I get the memories. How it’s hard to live with. The couple times I’ve had to replace my reactor, it’s been hell. And I put it in myself. But that’s also different because, when you’ve got this new one, you’re not alone putting it in. You don’t have to do anything; I’ll take care of it all. I’ve got you, and I’m not gonna let it hurt. I designed a little formula that’ll numb you just fine.”

“Formula… with a needle?”

“A needle that will only pinch.” The mechanic said with a wave of his hand. 

James watched his feet as he walked, finally emerging into the lab after their walk down the stairwell. “How long is the needle?”

“Length doesn’t matter.”

“So, it’s long,” he sighed. People only went out of their way to not say the length of a needle if it was long. Scary long.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, but if it wasn’t then you would tell me it wasn’t.”

Tony picked up a shirt on the bench and tossed it over his head. “Alright, no more talking for you. You’re just going to freak yourself out.” He stood up a little taller and gestured out before them, where his masterpiece awaited. “Now, the arm.”

Before them was a large metal case. Held up on a shelf on the wall. The sight was nearly alarming, because the case was so much larger than James had expected. He thought back to Tony measuring his biceps so that the arm could match his real one. Were his arms really this big?

Was Tony like Peter in that he wanted a _tall_ man? A large man? James was fairly large in comparison to Tony…

“James, did you hear me?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. What’d ya say?” His voice was raspy. 

Tony set the tool in his hand down on the bench and walked towards his friend. “If you’re worried about this, you don’t have to do it. I’m sure there’s another gigantic amputee who could use it if you don’t want it.”

“Oh, I’m not worried. I’m sure it’s gonna be perfect, Tony. I was just distracted. But I’m ready to see it now.” 

Attempting to hide his relative suspicion, the mechanic turned around to give his retina scan for the arm case. Distracted…. Did that mean he was having flashbacks, that this was going to go wrong? Was this another monumentally bad idea of his? 

James shook his head once Tony was facing the other way. Why was he thinking things like that now? Tony was helping him put an arm in, this wasn’t a time for thoughts like those. Especially comparing the wants or a hormonal teenager to that of a grown man. Who cares what kind of a man Tony wanted? Like Peter said, that kind of thing was no-one’s business but Tony’s, right? James needed to focus only on the situation at hand.

He was getting a new arm. He should be concerned with trauma, not _feelings_. Yes, focus on the trauma and fear! “Okay,” James breathed, “did you change anything between the blueprints and the actual arm?”

“There’re always bumps in the road, but everything’s mostly the same. You wanted just regular silver, right?”

“Yes. Peter and Pepper said I should choose a neutral color so it goes with more outfits.” He wasn’t one to take Pepper’s advice, but she _did_ know how to dress.

Tony chuckled. “Love that.”

James raised a brow.

“Alright, here we go. Now, the arm splits into three main parts: above the elbow, the forearm, and the hand. We’re going to clean all between the joints there—just so sanitize it one last time, and so you can get used to it. Then we’ll put it back together and put it back. One last test of your shoulder muscles and we’ll be good to put it in. Do you still want to do it in the morning?”

“Yeah. Don’ think it’d be a good idea to put my arm in and then immediately go to sleep. Probably have nightmares.”

“Right.” Tony tried not to glow under the fact that James had called it _his_ arm. That was progress, and they hadn’t even put it in yet.

“I should probably go through all the warnings again while we clean. Give you another hour to think about it.” Tony chimes as they began reaching for the sterilization equipment. “Physical side effects include that you might have some trouble knowing your own strengths. So we’ll go through some exercises every day before you go holding hands with anyone. If someone gives you something made of glass, don’t accept it. Not ‘til we’ve worked out those kinks, cause you’ll break whatever it is. And another side effect: you might forget the arm’s there. That happens sometimes.” 

“Okay. Weird.”

“I agree. Other than that, there’s all the signs of your body rejecting it. Did you read the article about dysmorphia I sent you?”

James shrugged. “Yeah, it used too many words. I’m only well educated in not-English.”

“You got to the position of Sargent.”

“Yeah, cause I was the only one left alive.” He snorted. “I’ll have FRIDAY translate it, then I’ll read it.”

Tony wasn’t sure what to say. “...okay.”

It took them a few minutes to get the arm into its pieces, Tony fiddling with some of the wiring before helping James clean. While the Super Soldier very regularly sucked at basic things like cleaning, he knew he had to do a good job because this was going to be connected to him soon. “It’s not as heavy as I thought it’d be." 

“I’m glad you have no faith in me.” Tony joked.

“Not sure I’m very good at having faith in anything. I was gonna go to church the other day, but it didn’t feel right.”

At this point in their quite abnormal relationship, Tony wasn’t even bothered by the fact that James never reacted to jokes normally. The man blurted our whatever came through his head, and every once in a while, it was refreshing. “You were catholic?” Tony inquired. 

“Yeah. Religion… it’s the one thing I remember. I remember praying every time they shot at us. But I can’t go into the church now. Not… not without Stevie. He always went with me, I know that much. How can I walk in there when I’m the embodiment of everything not-catholic? What I did on the battlefield, what I did off of it… no one would want me in church if they knew.” He couldn’t remember much, but he was very familiar with this feeling. Feeling dirty.

“I think people who really understand religion know better than to exclude anyone from it.” 

“Are you religious?” James asked quietly. He rubbed the cloth over the smallest part of the arm, and little piece of metal in a thin, thin rod. He wasn’t sure what it did, but he knew that it was hard to reach.

“No. But I certainly ‘m not gonna say there’s nothing out there. I think that’d be close-minded.”

“I think so too. But I don’t think whatever is out there would like me very much.”

It was quiet for a moment, and Tony could feel his chest restricting at the raw _pain_ in James’ voice. “Whatever’s out there,” he nearly whispered, “I think it knows better than to condemn you.” And after a moment he cleared his voice, “After all, you were right next to HYDRA the whole time. They probably made you look good in comparison.” 

James chuckled, “I hope so.”

The arm was finally clean in an hour or so, and Tony started on the rest of the potential problems they could have. 

He might not like the arm, his mind might reject it even if his body is fine with it. He might want to wake up in the middle of the night and rip it out, might want to undo it all. But he should come to Tony first, because the arm is easy to take out and _ripping it out would only make me worry, and James if you change your mind now’s the time because once I start putting it in I’ll have to keep going._

Somehow, hearing all of the things to worry about didn’t make James feel anything. He took the information in stride, not entirely listening, mostly concerned about having to get numbed, but he knew that would be fine.

“For every second of pain, there’s a lifetime of having a perfect arm. So, five lifetimes, cause the needle will be out in five seconds.” Tony chirped. “Altogether, that’s not a bad deal.”

“Will anyone else be there to put it in?”

“Dr. Mackenzie and Dr. Mendoza. They’re there to supervise because they think I’m reckless and I’ll make a joke at the wrong time. Imbeciles. A few SHIELD agents, guy from SI to document the tech. Then Rhodey’s going to stop by. I’ve got a new part to his suit.” 

James rolled his eyes. “He thinks I’ll go crazy and start killing everyone?”

“Don’t let his motherly instincts get the best of you. He’s suspicious of everyone.”

“But mostly of me.”

Tony ignored that comment. “He thought that Peter was dangerous at first.”

“Pepper is the same to me. Thinks I’m dangerous.”

Finally, the superhero sighed and set his tools down. “Have they _all_ been dicks to you?”

“Pepper, not Rhodes. I’d almost prefer that she at least pretend not to hate me, like the Colonel. She’s scary.” And hot, despite how James wished she weren’t. He wasn’t going to pretend like Pepper hasn’t pissed him off. She was completely basing her hatred of him off of emotion, not fact. She’d automatically figured that he had nefarious intentions. And maybe that wasn’t completely unreasonable, but she was still mean about it. Her anger was _unproductive_. Yelling at him wasn’t going to make him any less likely to go crazy. “She… she cares about you, I guess. But her being mad at me didn’t exactly accomplish much.”

“I’ll tell her to back off.” 

James snickered. “That’s what I used to say to Steve whenever anyone gave him shit. Guess I’m the one saying I don’t need protection now.”

“She shouldn’t be a dick to you. You’re right, it doesn’t help anything.”

He shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t be so nice if I were in her situation, given everything I’ve done.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to be irked by Pepper. “It’s not like she’s read the files, seen what you’ve done; she’s just heard what I said. I need a friend who can let me give up on my grudges.”

“Sometimes people need friends who hold grudges for them.”

“But I’m trying to move forward with my life.” Tony sighed. “Ugh. Whatever. She’ll get over it. So will Rhodey. He’s always been protective.”

James’ movements slowed, and he came to a stop with putting the arm back together. “Protective?”

“Yeah. My parents didn’t give a shit about me. Went home to Rhodey’s for thanksgiving. That kind of thing.” After so long of very publicly acknowledging how much Howard sucked, he wasn’t afraid to do it in private. Though even casually mentioning his parents around James was still uncomfortable. It was a topic they mostly ignored. Tony didn’t like to think that James had lost a friend when Tony lost a father… 

“So…” the Super Soldier tried not to think of Howard. So, Tony went to Colonel Rhodes’ house? They were…friends. Even from the beginning? Were they ever more? Before he could stop himself, he was asking “were you two ever, like, together?”

“Rhodey? Romantically? No. Maybe we considered it at one point, but we were never like that.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He cares about you.” 

Tony didn’t look up, sensing that there was something more tender in James’ voice than usual. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. Today was about the arm, nothing more. “And that’s why he’s coming today. Not to be a dick, so don’t be bothered if you see him.” With a sense of finality, he stood up and brushed the grit off his knees. “We’re done. The doctors will be here soon. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t true, but he wanted it to be.

* * *

There weren’t may contacts in James’ phone, but he heard from all of them while putting on the hospital gown for the operation.

 **_Peter:_ ** _Good luck today! If you don’t feel like going to the expo we don’t have to but you should also know that there’s a super dope food truck that has crepes :)_

James grinned at the sight, and messaged back quickly despite his shaking fingers. It wasn’t cold in the bathroom, but he was nervous.

 **_Blocked number:_ ** _You will do well with your new arm in, James. You should send me a picture when it is done; my fiancé and I are curious to see Stark’s work. Message me afterwards!_

Nakia’s text, he decided, he was happiest to see. There were various people he’d met through SHIELD who sent him a polite message through the Compound-IM system, and a message from Peter saying that Aunt May wished him good luck. The support meant more than he would willingly admit.

Meanwhile, Tony was rushing around with the doctors, finalizing plans and trying to slow his heartbeat. “Here’re all the forms––hey, Mendoza, do you have the I-19 form? Oh, there we go. And then… yes! Got that, got that, yes, staple those together,” he let out a sigh as the stack of papers was moved from his table to the head doctor’s.

It was finally happening.

An SI engineer was there to document the process, hoping to move forward with mass manufacture as soon as possible, and Tony was there to shoo him away. He could consider the other amputees in a minute, when James was finally secure. 

The Super Soldier lied down on the hospital bed, people crowded all around him, wires hooked up to his various body parts, like he was a puzzle they were all trying to solve.

“Alright, James, this should take, like, an hour. I’ve got the TV up, you can watch whatever you want.” Tony informed him, too cheerful to actually reflect how he was feeling, “I’m going to numb you and then we’ll wait for it to kick in.”

He nodded, swallowing. “Y-Yeah. Okay.”

The process of poking the needle in him was more emotionally painful than anything else. James’ mind was completely blank, images of HYDRA labs flashing before his eyes without conjuring a single reaction from him other than the pained beating of his heart. Every non-SI member in the room internally questioned Tony’s decision not to restrain James, but Tony knew it was good.

“Alright, halfway there—” he noted as he slowly pulled the needle out. The cartridge was empty and soon enough it should be numb, but James’ muscle was tense. Damn, he should’ve predicted that the Soldier wouldn’t be able to stop himself from tensing up. It was going to hurt later.

A collective sigh of relief came when Tony lifted the device away from James. They had made it.

Too afraid to turn his head and accidentally jerk the needle, James looked up with his eyes to see if it was done. He couldn’t feel it anymore, but the pain was definitely there.

“It’s over,” Tony reassured him, and gave his only genuine smile of the day. “Okay,” he raised his voice and glanced around triumphantly, “we’re good to go. You can tell Rhodey that he can come in now, and we’ll get something for James to watch.”

Everyone resumed their various tasks which James was unaware of, and Tony helped his friend into a sitting position. The man looked around as if bewildered. It was done. He was really going to get an arm…

“How do you feel?”

“Tingly. It’s getting numb,” James breathed. “I don’t love it, but I can’t feel it.”

“And that’s a good thing.” He pulled the monitor closer to them, and fully turned to face it. “Okay, what’re we thinking? Something classic? Something family?” 

James wasn’t thinking about television at all. The only thing on his shattered mind was _will it hurt? It’s happening again. It’s happening again. Again, again…_

He had gone through so much to get away from HYDRA. Followed Steve to the ends of the earth, fought battles he knew nothing about. Why was he giving it up now? Why did he want something that HYDRA made the decision about? They took off his arm, peeled what last bits of it were left, threw the limb away when they had the technology to reattach it. 

“James-“

“Tony-“

The mechanic leaned forward and took James’ hand into his own. “James,” their eyes met and Tony was tempted to lean even closer. But he knew that might do more harm, than good. “James, it’s okay.” The scientists and businessmen around them looked away, not wanting to somehow set off the seemingly unstable Super Soldier. “Look around. Look around,” Tony commanded, and James did so.

The room was mostly polished concrete, stable walls, a huge window open to remind James that they weren’t in a HYDRA bunker. A small consideration by Tony, who knew that stability was more important than secrecy.

“You’re right where you always are. Remember, we were eating breakfast upstairs just a little while ago. You’re at home, and no one here wants to hurt you. We’re here for you, remember?”

James blinked and closed his eyes, head facing the ground. He panted, “I know. I know that I’m fine, but I’m still scared. Can’t stop being scared.”

Tony nodded. “It’s fine to be scared. We’ll take our time here—we’re not in a rush.” He glanced up to the chief engineer, who nodded in response, pressing a button on the screen to close the doors to the outside. Non-essential personel picked up their things, preparing to leave. “Alright, James, let’s just sit here. We knew there’d be bumps in the road and the most important thing is that we take our time….” Shaky, James nodded. “Let’s talk about something else.” A classic distraction. “Um, you’re going to the Expo with Peter tomorrow night before we leave, right? Are you excited?”

There was too much on James’ mind. God, he’d manage to be so steady before this. He ate his breakfast, did the stupid fucking self care as if it would fucking help. Who was he to thicnk that he could be cured? That he could casually put an arm in and then go meet new people? It was all too much, all too much.

“James.”

He finally looked up. Tony’s face was hard, but soft with concern. Everything in his body language was filed with alarm, that stinging reminder that deep down, Tony had reason to be afraid of him.

Despite everything the two of them had been through, James killed Tony’/s parents. And Tony watched. 

“I don’t think I can do it. My shoulder—it’s like it’s not there.”

“That’s just the numbing. It’s not real, look in the mirror,” he gestured to the huge sheet of glass beside them. “See? You’re you.”

But it didn’t look like him. A huge body with a scared child’s mind, a white hospital gown- 

“Do you see your shoulder?” 

“I see it, but it’s like it’s not there.” 

Tony couldn’t let himself doubt. Doubt was a dangerous emotion. He had complete confidence in James. James, who fought to change himself. James, who _needed_ this arm. Who chose this arm. Tony was going to be here no matter what—even if James went crazy, even if James reverted back to before that change.

James was James. Whether he had short hair or long hair, red or blue clothes… all those choices mattered, yes, but they only had to choose each other. James only had to choose himself.

James was James, and Tony… Tony loved James.

“You chose the name James,” Tony said, leaning closer despite what his brain told him, “you chose this arm. You need to know that it’s okay to change you choices. Going back on this wouldn’t mean you’re weak.”

He shook his head. “No, no, I chose it. I want the arm. I want two arms—I want to be normal. I want to feel normal, Tony.”

“Okay, tell me what else. Why do you want the arm?”

“’m tired of getting stared at when we go out. I’m tired of only having one arm to use when I work out. Tired of not being able to balance things. I can’t hold that much when I’m bringing art supplies to the Art Room. 

“That's right. And that’s all this is. You’re choosing to be able to carry more. Choosing to help yourself. This doesn’t have anything to do with HYDRA or the past.”

“I know. I know.” 

“Then tell me. Come on, James, why do you want the arm?”

“’Cause HYDRA took it from me.”

“You can’t base all your decisions off what HYDRA did. You have to do it for you.”

James didn’t think about how it was the same thing Pepper had said in the kitchen. He didn’t think how Peter had relayed the same sentiments back to him plenty of times. “Yes, I can.”

Tony snorted, “but you shouldn’t. Tell me, how will having an arm make you happy?”

“Art. Uh… I want to match. I don’t want to be all lopsided.” James looked down at his feet, watching his toes move inside the socks. God, he was really just sitting in the Compound. Everything around him was perfectly normal, no one else was panicking. It was strange to know that you were the weird one, in a world where everyone else was sane. “I know that I’m safe. I know I’m here where I always am. But I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel like I’m home.”

The mechanic frowned. Okay, and what could he do about that? Truly, James didn’t have any posessions. He wasn’t allowed to go to his room. Wasn’t allowed to go to the Art room. Peter was gone…

“Do… do you want to talk to anyone?”

James sniffed, “huh?”

“Someone to distract you. If there’s anyone you wanna call, you can.”

For a moment they just stared at one another. A creeping thought came up in the back of James’ mind, wondering f it was possible that Tony knew he’d been talking to Nakia. But that couldn’t be possible, right? If Tony knew where Steve and the others were, wouldn’t he have apprehended them? 

“I… I can? What about all the SHIELD people?”

“I don’t give a fuck about them. Listen, you can be alone for a second. I’ll have FRI turn off the mics, but you can call her and they’ll turn back on. The cameras are still gonna have to be on.”

James was nearly teary-eyed. “Okay.”

* * *

Normally, remembering nothing of the previous day might scare James. Today, he was thankful. Having an arm put in wasn’t something he really needed to remember. All that mattered was that he’d sweated out the rest of the fear, and when he woke up in his own bed, he had both arms.

Roughly, he could recall talking to Tony, who was in his bedroom a few times when he woke up. Telling him about the broken vase Jasmine had asked him to remind Tony of, asking if Peter was home yet, wanting to talk to Nakia… but largely he slept.

Now, he was two-armed.

* * *

The first call he made once he woke up was to Nakia. He didn’t know if Peter was home, didn’t know if the SHIELD agents and engineers were still waiting for him to come downstairs so they could evaluate him. Didn’t think about a single thing. He just called Nakia. Everyone else be damned.

Deciding to skip over sending a photo of the arm—it didn’t seem like a photo could do it justice—he decided on a video chat instead. But, of course, he wasn’t dumb enough to just do it out of nowhere.

 ** _James:_** _Is Steve around? I don’t want him trying to talk to me._ He texted first. Why was he wondering if they were even still in Wakanda?

Memories clipped at the back of his brain, something from the previous days which he couldn’t remember.

 **_Nakia:_ ** _All clear._

“FRI, can you turn speakers off unless I need you?”

_“Yes, James.”_

The second that she picked up the phone, as he was walking into his personal bathroom so that FRIDAY wouldn’t see who was on the screen, he broke out in his biggest grin.

“James! Oh, it looks fantastic!” She exclaimed, face too close to the screen for him to evaluate exactly where she was. “That’s amazing—and it nearly looks like a real arm! Not the color, of course, but in the shape and everything. It matches your other one perfectly.”

She was genuinely dumbfounded at the sight of such mastery attached to a man who looked homeless right about then, James could tell. But he wasn’t bothered. He had just woken up an hour or so ago, and gone through all of the doctor’s tests before getting the chance to shower. All night he’d been sweating in bed, so he needed to wash his hair; his excitement about talking to Nakia was the only thing that outweighed his need for a bath bomb.

“I’m all greasy right now, just woke up from like a twelve-hour nap, but it’s really great. I mean, it’s completely perfect. I almost forgot what it was like to have a real arm, but it feels like it. All my two-arm memories are coming back to me…” He mused, showing the camera a view of himself in the mirror. His silhouette was almost normal. He hadn’t felt normal in a very long time.

“Are they good memories?”

“They’re nonspecific. Just… I mean, picking up a cup in my old apartment, holding Stevie’s hand. Everything. I never even realized how much I missed having a hand—a real hand. I know it’s metal, but it feels just the same.” Nearly driven to tears by the mere sensation of _feeling_ in his limb, he set the phone down briefly, before propping it up so he could fully face his friend. “I don’t remember anything from yesterday." 

She had a backdrop of bright green leaves, larger than her head, and a rickety shack behind her. The same hill that James had ran out to that very last day in Wakanda. 

Had it really been that long? That long since he’d seen her? Seen Steve?

“Oh, James, I’m thrilled for you. I can’t even imagine how good it must feel. And you can reach itches on your back easier! I know those bothered you so bad when you just had one arm.” She continued, not seeing his varied emotions. “I’m just here with T’Challa. We’re going to go take down some raiders a few kilometers away. I wish you could be here with us! I bet the damage that thing does is just immense.”

Her honest glee was entirely contagious, and James found himself smiling. “God, this thing is stronger than you could imagine. I haven’t used it at all. I just woke up, wanted to call you first thing.”

She frowned, “you still thinking about what you said yesterday?”

“Yesterday?”

“About Steve?”

“I told you, I don’t remember anything. I just woke up with an arm. Tony said memory loss was normal.” He shrugged, but held the phone closer. “I thought we just texted before. Did we call each other before I went to sleep?”

“No, you called me before you got the arm in. You were scared, and said that Tony let you call me. You asked if Steve was still here, because you were afraid that Tony knew they were in Wakanda. You told me you’d explain later.” She paused to check if he was familiar with anything she’d said. It was just a day ago! “I talked you down—it took about fifteen minutes—and then you hung up. Do you remember any of this, James?” 

He huffed, “no. Tony knows they’re in Wakanda?”

“You seemed to think so.”

Gosh, how was it all just a whisper around the sides of his brain? The panic that he felt was familiar. He knew this emotion—knew the worry of Tony exposing Steve. Even if James was still mad. “And I said that Tony _let_ me call you? As in, he knew it was you?”

“You said that Tony encouraged you to call anyone you needed to. Anyone who could calm you down.” There was rustling from behind her. “I think I’ve got to go, but James we must talk later tonight! Give me an update on how it’s going, and tell me what you think of the arm once you’ve had enough time to test it!" 

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

He was sad to see her go, but relieved to get to wash the grime from his hair. The very first thing he wanted was to shower, and _then_ figure out what the hell happened yesterday.

So, things hadn’t gone smoothly. He’d needed Nakia to talk him into the arm. It was almost embarrassing, after being so very adamant about getting it in in the first place.

And he couldn’t be sure, as he began stripping down from his sweatpants to just his underwear, if the stomach-twirling urge to touch himself was a side effect of all the strange chemicals in his body, or just from feeling whole again. Either way, would it be so wrong to indulge? Would it be a huge red flag for a change in behavior? Regularly, he didn’t do this.

With a sigh, he looked around as if to check if anyone was in earshot. His bedroom door immediately locked behind him, as he’d put in the room settings his first week here, and FRIDAY supposedly couldn’t hear or see anything in here; but he still couldn’t quite trust it. While sex wasn’t something he’d mentioned to his therapist yet, he knew that this sensation was one they had discussed. The feeling as if he was being watched, as if his environment could never again be safe or secure.

He took a deep breath. No one was going to come in. If he were just showering, he wouldn’t feel so paranoid. So there was no reason to now.

Attempting to clear his mind, he stepped into the shower and turned the heat up all the way. Burning hot water was his favorite, and he had full access to it at the Compound. There were too many things on his mind for him to simply recall that feeling of warmth that had ghosted his body just moments earlier, but he wasn’t completely helpless. 

Plenty of women on television caught his eye recently. Ones whose names he could never remember, and never intended to. Mostly they had pouty lips, light freckles, darker hair. He could picture it easily, but it would be much easier once the video loaded.

* * *

Downstairs, FRIDAY made quick work of informing her Boss that James was once again contacting the Wakandan number. _“He is talking to Steve again, Boss.”_

The mechanic sighed and put his head down on his desk. Currently, he was held up in his workshop, filling out the final paperwork and answering the emailed-questions of several scientists and doctors for the new arm. His day had been long and hard, filled with wonders of whether James would make it, whether the SHIELD agents were going to ruin in all, if it all would be for naught. The last thing he wanted to was think about Steve. Fucking. Rogers.

“So, he’s awake… FRIDAY, I’ve had enough of this. He just got his new arm, he’s emotional and sad and a million different things. It’s none of our business.” Tony ignored the pain of knowing that it was Steve who was helping James now. Helping James _more_. Tony couldn’t comfort him into getting the arm, but Steve could. And now he was the first person James talked to with his new arm… 

_“It’s illegal.”_ She pointed out.

“I literally hacked into SHIELD last week for fun,” he waved a hand of dismissal and finally forced himself to his feet. Legs shaking and falling onto the couch, he only spoke with half interest, “it’s not like he’s doing anything nefarious. He’s James.” _And he’s breaking my heart._ But that didn’t matter.

 _“I also trust James, but I do not trust Steve Rogers. Don’t you think it’s a problem, given the Traitor’s propriety for manipulative relationships, that James––so soon after his operation––is going straight to him? I do not understand how that couldn’t be cause for concern.”_ Was it possible for AI’s to feel impatience? _“I know that you want to respect his privacy, but I am worried for James.”_

Heaving an enormous sigh, Tony rolled over onto his stomach, feeling all his muscles relax at the new position. “FRI, there’s nothing we can do about it. If you’re so worried, why don’t you just ask him, huh? Be straightforward.” As soon as he was settled, a feeling of tingles washed over the backside of his brain, and he could just feel sleep about to take him–

_“How am I to tell the difference between sounds of pain and sexual sounds?”_

Tony’s head slowly lifted. “Wait, what? Why’re you asking that? We were talking about James.” He groaned.

_“And there are noises coming from his bathroom as he is on the phone with Steve Rogers which could either indicate either pain or sex. I am unsure how to differentiate.”_

Her clinical tone on the subject made Tony want to scream. “Oh my god, don’t tell me that! FRIDAY, respect his privacy! Turn off the damn microphones in his bathroom, my god!”

_“My speakers are set to alert me if anyone is in pain or has said my name. I cannot tell if the sounds are pain or sex.”_

“Wh-it’s not like he has someone in there!” Now fully sitting up, Tony waved his hands in the air to stop his AI. “Okay! Enough. No more talking about this. Whatever it is, do _not_ tell me. It’s none of my business. You should be able to tell which is which, FRIDAY. Google it.”

And his head was once again in his hands. Dear lord. How did this happen? So, either James was in pain during his first shower after the operation––concerning, but not out of the question––or his first move after getting a new arm in was to call Steve Rogers and have phone sex. Absolutely not! No, no, no! Tony didn’t even want to know the answer.

This… this relationship with Steve was a _relationship._ James reclaimed his body and immediately went to Steve…

“FRIDAY, just find out if he’s okay. Pain after an operation is normal, and he’s too stubborn to ask for meds.” He finally grunted out, head spinning from the sheer embarrassment of even having to consider the alternative. He should go back to his work, find something to do so that he could prove this wasn’t an alarming thing to hear.

They were supposed to have a certain level of privacy! How could he look James in the eye knowing that his AI had actually had the nerve to talk to him about this? And what if he actually was in danger? That _was_ more likely.

 _“James asked for the speakers in the bathroom to be turned off unless he needs me, as he always does when calling the Wakandan number. The speakers are only activated to his voice; my protocols say not to interrupt when someone has asked for speakers to be turned off. How should I proceed?"_

Tony wanted to cry. He just wanted to sleep! Was that too much to ask for?

If James had actually asked for the speakers to be turned off, what were the chances that suspicious noises were purely spontaneous?

“I don’t know! God, if he’s not out of the shower in a couple minutes, lie and tell him that-that there’s an algorithm that requires you to check on him every ten minutes when the speakers or off. Just make something up, find out if he’s okay!” Head in hands. Head in hands. “FRIDAY, you are not supposed to be telling me _anything_ that could relate to what he’s asked to be kept private.”

_“I am required to alert you of any potential issues of a medical patient in the Compound. And he could be in pain.”_

Tony wanted to slap himself. “Just take care of it. I’m going to take a Xanax.” 

* * *

“If James has both arms now,” Peter mused that night, “is he still technically disabled? Like, he’s definitely in better physical condition than anyone else on earth, but he’s technically disabled.” It seemed strange that James, in all his bodily might, had such tragic titles associated with him. Prisoner of war, unnamed dead soldier, amputee. In reality, he was doing better than ever, but as the teen went through all the _Special Circumstance_ boxes, he was reminded of just how many James fit into. 

“Why’re you filling out his work permits? Shouldn’t he be doing that?”

“He’s too honest,” Peter said flippantly, “and he’s going to get spotted. The government is, like, way sus right now, and people aren’t going to believe that a guy who _happens_ to look exactly like a Captain America’s best friend is actually just some guy. Everyone knows that SHIELD’s hiding a whole bunch of frozen dudes in their basement.”

Tony didn’t have it in him to address the man things in that thought which he didn’t understand. Instead, he let out a sigh and leaned forward to get up from his chair. “And you think introducing him to your sweaty teenage friends will help with that?” He smirked when Peter’s head popped up in surprise. “Yeah, I know about that.”

“How?”

“I have algorithms to catch anyone online saying that they think James Barnes is alive. And even your little slang-filled texts couldn’t get through it.” The mechanic shook his head, “tell your friends you’re not introducing them to James or I’m having their memories erased. For their own good.” With that, he turned on one tired heel to leave.

Currently, they were on the balcony of the fourth floor, wrapped in several blankets with the snow falling all around them, melting just above the fire pit. Peter could barely feel the cold, but Tony could barely feel his toes.

Though he was currently relaxing before bed, he hadn’t managed to sleep today. That was two days without it. James had needed his help recalibrating the arm, Pepper had forms he needed to fill out… there were a million distractions, and he was ready to retreat to his bed.

“But, Mr. Stark,” Peter immediately hopped to follow him, “James is my friend! MJ and Ned just want to meet him.”

Now both standing, and freezing their asses off, neither of the men wanted to discuss this, but both felt too strongly about their sides of the conflict to stop.

“He’s not _one of the kids_ , Peter. His identity is a secret. It’s not a game––HYDRA agents are still out there, even if they’re not united. We’ve been finding them one by one with his memories, but James worked with hundreds of them. And they all want him dead now.” Tony didn’t want to let his concerns about the situation show, but he could feel it creeping up in his voice. His tired voice.

When he’d first come across the alert that Peter had this _tremendously_ stupid idea, FRIDAY had to calm him down, remind him that Peter was only a teenager. A feeble, weak-minded kid. Who Tony was still pissed at.

Yelling at him was the last thing left on his to-do list, and now Tony only wanted to lie down.

“Well I know that, Mr. Stark, but he still needs to _live._ What’s the point of keeping him alive if he’s cooped up in this building all day?” Peter lifted a tentative hand, meaning no disrespect. “And I know that this is better than his alternative, but he should be able to do casual stuff. My friends’ve kept my secret; they’ll keep his too. We understand the severity of it.”

Tony, now at a full stop, looked down at his feet, clenching his hands around the blanket. Why did Peter have to keep pushing him on this?! He didn’t want to have to scare the kid, but if he was _genuinely_ sure of this idiotic plan, then he clearly needed to be set straight.

“You _don’t_ understand the severity. Because you haven’t worked with HYDRA before, you haven’t worked with James’ memories before. These people will do _anything_ to get to him and get back all their work. They’re not above killing _children_ , _civilians_. Anyone who comes even close to knowing the full truth is in inexplicable danger.” He looked directly at the teenager. “And you are going to tell your friends that James has left the country, or that he’s not here anymore. Don’t talk to them about him ever again.”

“Mr. Stark-“

“End of discussion. I hadn’t thought that I’d need to warn you about this; I didn’t expect you to get so close to him. But I’m telling you now. Go to the expo tomorrow, have your fun, but he _cannot_ be doing anything or meeting anyone behind mine or SHIELD’s backs. Especially not with civilians." 

Peter had more than half a mind to continue arguing, but he kept his mouth shut. Tony walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason this chapter took so long is because I had a lot to accomplish with it, emotionally and logistically, and I didn't get to everything. Next chapter, I think, will also be long(ish).
> 
> Comments mean everything, and I know I don't update often but I'm trying to make chapters better and longer. I really hope that you guys like it. I know there are typos in it somewhere but my priority was mostly just to get it out.
> 
> I HURT MY FINGER!!! If there are any especially dumb typos, that's why! Typing is hard :/

**Author's Note:**

> Tal
> 
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> 
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